Cat in a Bag: The Druid Pawn
by ArtemisJade
Summary: Held captive of an UD Warlock and BE Priest, a young Druid of Auberdine finds herself the newest pawn in the scheming of several different factions.  Though she wants to flee, the Priests Gnomish Engineering skills prevent it.
1. Prologue

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

Most of these were notes that appeared at the beginning of various chapters. I compiled them here to make it easier on anyone reading from the beginning.

1. The last thing I need to be writing about is WoW fanboy out-of-touch-with-reality tripe, abomination to good writers everywhere, and spiting in the face of pulizer-prize material.

2. I don't own World of Warcraft. This story begins in the early part of the Burning Crusade era.

3. MC's physical description is not given initially (because the first chapters are written almost first-person and people don't think of themselves in terms of descriptions) and so I write a quick summary here: Dark blue hair, braided. Smallish lips, pinkish. Light purple skin. No facial markings; no moon markings on the animal forms. Silver eyes that gradually turn amber. Smaller shifted forms because she is a teen aged Night Elf and they are smaller than the adult version. I assume their forms would grow as they did.

4. Not all of the characters that appear here are mine, and some names have been changed to protect the shameless. If you own any of these characters feel free to track me down; you know which server we lived on. There's still a spot in Desolance I can't pass without going back to those days.

5. Reviews are nice: What is your reaction to the chapter? Did you feel emotions and what were they? Did you feel the descriptions were too vague or too purple? Is my OC becoming a Mary Sue? Do you have specific questions I didn't realize I had posed and would like answers latter on? And of course spelling, grammatical errors (in quotes if possible so I can track it easier).

6.. Retcons are noted at the beginning of any chapter they appear in, as well as deviations from established in-game lore. See next note, however.

7. Blizzard whores their lore and game rules so I am apt to do the some once in a great while. Example: Tyrande is a priestess whose primary fighting tool is a giant striped cat and an elven longbow and has the ability to cast Druid-class-only Starfall. Ya-rly! This leaves me open to be quite creative in what I can let a character get away with if circumstances present themselves.

8. I removed the epilogue because I feel it ruined the story for a great many who otherwise did not want to find out certain PLOT SPOILERS that way. Fortunately I left out 90% of what happened in the first place and only hit the high notes so the entire story (including the climatic finish) were not ruined.

9. Added: Sep 1 to reflect the Aug 28 patch: All Druid forms mentioned in this story are the ORIGINAL Druid forms. Bears with closed mouths = awesome. Jewelry on a jungle cat = tacky. I decided to name the MCs travel form from day one (the only named mob in the game who has that skin) because I knew they would change druid forms someday and I would not want to go into chapters already written (posted or otherwise) and explain that 'travel form' means a leopard and not whatever they replaced it with in-game. Original forms means that all bears and cats of tauren and night elf races look the same within their race, the only variations being tattoos, size, age, and wear and tear. All travel forms, tree forms and special-ed mutated seal forms look the same (Shout out to anyone who ever did that pain in the arse quest back in Vanilla for a form you never used!) and are also the original forms. Hoof and Horn Lodge no. 1 was not accepting new initiates at the time this story was written and did not open their doors to new members until the end of Cata. Therefore there is a lore reason (by that I mean excuse!) for me not to go back and change her forms to the newer ones. There are pictures online of the original forms if you need a reference.

So here goes!

*ahem*

~*~ Prologue in Note Form~*~

Cause I suck at writing good dramatic prologues

(see "Ghosts of the Past" as example, lol)

Prince Kael'thas has just stepped threw the Dark Portal. He is not as yet evil, and he loves his people as much as his people love him.

Silvermoon is still half a wastelands and not all of the quel'dorie have decided which side they are on, that of the sin'dorie or that of the Alliance.

The sin'dorie are honored guests in Horde territory but as of yet have not proven themselves to the Warchief that they have severed all ties to their former allies in Stormwind.

Also that little problem of Darkhan Drathnir still lording it over the Scourge of the Ghostlands from his fortress of Deathknell…

The Draenie have not yet crashed on Azurmyst Isles (yes, that early in BC).

The Blood Nights and ( ^ ) Alliance Shamans do not exist yet.

Zul'aman is still a (10 man level 70) hotspot of troll activity that once against threatens a crippled Quel'dorie people.

It's a well-known fact that the Banshee Queen we hate to love from before has become OOC in Cata. In lue of that I have a surprise in store for her fans at the end. She appears in one section of this story as the _old_ Sylvanas that existed in Vanilla, BC and LK; I'm pretending the Cata Sylvannas is a technical glitch that exists in the computer system of the Lore Department at Blizz and once they get the virus (Plauge?) out then all will return to normal.

Anduin Wryn still rules Stormwind with Lady Prestor at his side.

Malfurion Stormrage lies in the Emerald Dream.

Paladin's can and will bubble-hearth.

Druids and shamans still find talking to vendors and drinking potions in their animal forms somewhat difficult and have opted to only try doing these activities while in human form.

As a general rule Druids do not fight each other on the battlefield. This unspoken rule applies to every Druid.

Fandaral Staghelm still resides in Darnassus, corruption as yet unknown and still in control of the Night Elf Druids and in turn has political control of half of Darnassus. He and Tyrande make it no secret that they each wish the other a swift death and are willing to pay if someone could do it without inciting riots.


	2. Auberdine

~*~ Chapter 1 ~*~

Dawn in Auberdine. Hunting for brown bear in the twilight forests. Mist rolls threw the buttress roots as beings seen and unseen, material and immaterial pass. Drifting this way and that. Subtle wafting of the cool and warm breezes that signal the ending of one night and the birth of a new day.

Silently, the cat prowls in the chill of early morning dew. Low on the ground, she avoids the light of day, lays her tummy on the earth and watches.

The bears are 12 strong if there is one. Beast hunting beast, the bears snatch and snarl at each other. The victor will consume a wild Moongraze Stag that died with the rise of the sun. A young Druid who sharpens her hunting skills alone will consume the loser. This morning she is going to bring home meat for her family. This morning she is proving she is worthy of further teaching of the feral arts.

Bears fight for food; bears fight for mates; bears fight for their young and bears fight for territory. Bears fight till first blood. The winner takes all… the wounded take off. He too will be eaten if he does not retreat and hide his blood from the hungry.

The smell of damp fur is thick in the clearing. The heat of so many bodies warms the ground. The Druid watches all. She will know each move and block, each sequence of attack. She will know how to kill her pray with minimal injury. The bear is big, his weight and strength his assets. The cat has speed and agility, moving lithe as a weasel to bleed her prey and finish it off quickly.

The air smells of blood. Tendrils seep the warm smell of life to a waiting predator. The roar of the victor shivers the ground. It topples the loser backward where it lands heavily on the mossy forest floor. The clearing shakes; other bears stop their fights and observe. If it doesn't move soon, it will be a second helping to the stag.

Heaving itself from the ground, it roars to life with one more try. Gathering its rage, he throws himself at the aggressor. They slam together with bone jarring force, teeth meeting flesh. Claws maul and swipe at the thickened neck of the opposite. They break away, heaving. This time the weaker one does not try again. To leave the clearing too exhausted to fend off coming attacks is inviting others to put him down for food.

The Druid follows. Her small, wide paws make no sound on the moss of the ground. The sun has climbed to a height enough to break up the shadows of the large roots and night-cooled foliage. She must take care to stay hidden or the light of day will reveal her. She must keep the sun to her back or the light of day will blind her.

The bear follows a path along the road. The Bear Path they call it, because the bear are the ones who made and maintain it. Parallel to the road, it allows easy access to stray animals from herded flocks and the occasional stray traveler.

Sniffing the ground, the bear follows an unknown path that meanders to and fro. At one point it lifts it's head and smells the air. The Druid waits on the ground once more and shifts her ears to find what the bear smells. The wind has sifted and she prays her scent travels along the ground and not the air.

Just one-second too late she realizes that a cross current has taken her scent right to the beasts nose. With a roar so loud it makes her flinch, it is on her before she can react. One huge paw lands on her ribs and rakes up to her shoulder. The claws rip their way threw her thickened hide. Bits of bloody blue fur cling to the massive paw. Hissing, she screams an answering challenge and throws herself at its throat. Though the wound to her ribs is bad, she knows that she has the skill to fix it. Not as good as the skills of the Druids who's path is to restore what is lost and wounded, but enough for her to survive such blows.

Dodging the next attack, she crouches low on four paws, long tail slinging left then right as she weaves from one side to the next getting into position for a good offensive. She slashes at its eyes, blinding it. In fury it roars and lashes out. It's injury feeds it's strength, adrenalin washing in to fuel the rage. As it attacks it gains strength that cause the weight it throws behind each blow to do more and more damage.

She hits its left shoulder, sending bloody drops to scatter on nearby trees. It counter attacks with a twin slam from one paw then the next. The force sends her off her feet and back into the bushes. Before it can see where she lands, she shifts into the shadows, hidden from view.

The bear stops. Heavy breathing puffs out in clouds. The sun is shining into the clearing where the Druid hides. The bear, in all its instinctive cunning, has maneuvered her around so the sun is at its back. It has the advantage now. She knows if she moves she will be seen but she can't hold the shadows around her for long. Shadows that don't move are as telling as those that do.

The bear raises it's head and sniffs the winds. It can't find her. Its energy high is lessening. The adrenaline is draining away. This is her hope. As it's back is turned the Druid releases the shadows from her hold.

They slip down her body, revealing her true form. A young Night Elf, 16 years old, is a new mortal of a race that was once immortal. Dark blue hair, braided in the Dwarven fation, is wild with leaves and moss and anything else that wishes to take hold. A delicate V shaped face indicative of her race seems to hold an expression of seriousness even if she were to jest. Large iridescent green eyes glow pale amber in the dark. Only other night elves will be able to see the color of the iris, all else will only see the glow. Long and slender ears, graceful, move as she swings her head from side to side listening for enemies. They hear everything. Her skin holds the shadows, the same shade of purple that her feline form's blue coat holds. Her face is unadorned of any tattoos. The Druids of her village, the wise trainers who know when the time comes for a young Druid to enter the Emerald Dream, have not seen her fit to advance in training. She will bring home the meat and prove she is ready to know more of her path, her future.

In an instant the shadows are back in place. She raises her hands, closes her eyes, and begins the incantation to heal the worse of the wounds. In an instant the world goes black! Stunned, it takes a second for the pain to register. In her mortal form and unprotected there is nothing between her earth-worn skin and the 6 inch claws of the angry bear. His charge, from the other side of the clearing, had stopped her heal and opened a wound from her shoulder down to her lower back.

Struggling against the pain and the weight of the animal slowing her attack, she shifts to become the graceful cat again. Instinct takes over and she dodges the next attack. Blood sprays the ground. Thick and almost black, the bear's blood congeals faster. Its wounds are clotting already. Having taken a serious blow while not protected by the thick hide of her alternate form, she attempts to land a killing blow to end the fight. Doing the unexpected, the bear parries the blow, knocking her back from the energy of her own physical attack used against her.

If it is luck that it managed to throw her own attack back at her or what, she shifts back into her mortal form and recites the spell her wildkin teacher had taught her. This spell appealed to the spirit of the earth to heed her call for help. Ignoring the maul that knocked her back flat to a tree, she finishes the spell. From the ground under the bear, the Earth Mother responds. The massive buttress roots of the tree lend themselves to the Druid's aid, flex upwards from the ground, shifting chucks of rock and clumps of earth as they do. They wrap themselves around the legs of the bear and pull him down. Fastened to the ground, there is no escape.

The Druid had no patience for spell-casting. She loved the feel of the earth under paw, of water sliding over her fins, and one day she would know the joy of soaring over the lands, unapproachable by the majority of those who would stray her. Resting now a bit, she breaths as the last of the haze that had slowed her attacks fades. Stepping away from the tree, she once again begins to recite the spell that would heal her severe wounds.

The roots break.

She never did have much patience to learn the next parts of spellwork: the part that would cause the roots to hold till she chose to let them go. Afraid now, she reaches out desperately for the help of Elune, the Great Goddess, who was the All Goddess, She of 10,000 names. In a moment, the strength of Elune descends from the heavens, filling her with power, thickening her skin against the bear's attacks. She prays for healing.

As she shifts into the vicious cat again, shrieking with anger and rolling with energy, she taps the energy the Goddess has given her and lashes out with wild precision. The blow lands, a cut that guts the bears throat. Blood sprays. It rains over the ground and the leaves and the cat for a second before it begins to clot.

The Druid stalks low, moving into the shadows behind a tree. The bear cannot see her as it dies. It cannot retaliate. She smiles as its throaty warble signals the end of its life. It bleeds, hot blood hits the ground and steams. Her body shivers in anticipation. She has done it! She killed the bear on her own and she will bring home food and skins and bones and her family will know abundance!

The bear is close to death but still holding on, perhaps thinking that she has left and it will heal. Frustrated now she comes out from behind the tree. She has the mental energy to match her body… little left. It has been short but trying and she wishes to rest before she has to drag the body home. Her body and mind are bruised and both need rest.

Reaching up into the heavens, towards the descending quarter moon, she grasps Elun's Glory and pulls. Down the fire of the moon rushes, striking the bear hard. Its whole being jumps, fur ignites with the hum of energy, crackling silver fire. In a pitiful display, the bear lets out a mournful mewling and collapses to the earth. The fire subsides.

It is dead.


	3. She'll Make a Nice Imp

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

The Priest's gear is called "Merciless Gladiator's Raiment" and is the blue version of "Avatar Regalia". You are very likely to see both these sets in the game-world once again now that 4.3 is live and x-moging is available.

Reuploaded on Dec 5,11 to fix glaring spelling and consistency errors.

~*~ Chapter 2 ~*~

She laughs out loud, soft as her voice is. This voice was not for casting, for whispering words to Elune in praise all the rest of her day. This voice saw almost no use in her upright form. Wild and unfettered, it is strong and resonates. Her warning cry could be heard a mile away, all the way to Maestra's Post. Maestra herself had given her praises.

She glowed now, and bled. Her wounds do not heal as fast as the bear whiles she say in her upright form. The whoosh of adrenaline makes her giddy and gradually subsides. She taps an instant healing spell that is stored in her hearthstone. This healing energy had been put there for emergency use. It requires mental intellect to call it out and weave it around her raked body. Tired as she is, she calls a smaller spell to come forth. It will bind the worse of the shredded skin, numbing the pain. The adrenaline of battle has numbed till now, but as it leaves agony sets in.

Sitting down, she fumbles with her bag. The food gives the magic some minerals to work with, makes it more potent. It works slower than the magic but at least this way she savors flavor. And the drink! A cool wash of clear water will help clear away the weariness and rinse her mind clean of the fight.

No sooner had she settled herself and gotten out her bag than a mind numbing roar assaulted her senses. Wincing, she braces herself against the tree and is using it as support for a gathering of effort. Using the last of her mental strength, she shifts once more. Not into the beautiful cat but into the short and stocky bear. Its brute and strength are her last resort in most fights. She would win this one at all costs!

It was another bear that followed the loser and plans its disposal. It found a dead loser and an injured Druid instead. Intending to make the best of it, it would attack and kill the Druid and consume them both.

Rearing back on hind legs, she let lose with her own roar. The new threat cowers a bit but it is determined. It mimics her, gathering itself on hind legs and they throw themselves at the other's throat. She gets the hold and thrashes her weight from side to side. Smallness gives her a measure of agility. More nimble but less powerful, she will use this to her advantage. Swiping down, the clawed hand would have her head smashed on the ground. Dodging left, she strikes right, gashing the bear's face.

Bleeding from two places, the bear should stop. It should. But it's enraged! Almost screaming, it backs up. She thinks it will leave. It charges instead… smashing it's skull into hers… knocking her senseless.

Two clawed paws and a thick set of teeth decent to meet the hide of the injured Druid. Taking hold of her throat it wrenches its head back and forth, meaning to break her neck in a killing move.

Coming too for a second, she has a choice: expend the last bits of her strength to keep fighting, or expend it to heal and hope she can outrun the bear. She doesn't have it in her to shift into the swift form of Dushu and flee with great speed. Instead she concentrates, diving deep into herself and channeling her rage to feed the healing spell. This is the moderate level teaching when one is little and needs to be able to understand and control the rage that comes when one is frenzied in attack. Controlling the rage, she channels it. As she channels it, bracing against the thrashing of the other bear on top of her, she flexes her mind to change hurt and anger and rage into clean healing energy.

She begins to heal. As she does, she wretches free and turns to run while tapping a second spell linked to her hearthstone. This one takes no mental prowess, it is a rune of appeal to Elune, Who Hears All, calling for the very roots and branches of the forest to flex up behind her and cover her escape.

She feels the ground shiver, the roots move, bend and flex. The bear lets out with a deafening roar of anger when the forest attempts to close up the path behind the fleeing Druid. It crashes wildly threw the first barrier, pulling free with shear determination. She glances back for a moment, afraid to see that the bear has almost caught up. The earth rumbles once more, the very branches of the trees reach down to assist, but what are branches compared to the angry weight of brown bear? The trees groan and shriek as the branches are broken and snapped. The bear pushes threw.

Afraid now she longs for the swiftness of her feline forms. She will not get them. The earth moves one last time, snaking vines across her path, narrowly avoiding catching her thickened hind legs. These the bear slams into. They creak and groan… and hold. The Druid does not look back again, she runs for her life.

Her family will not be able find her here, cannot enact the rite that binds soul to body and heal it to life again. She will get to the road where the path is clear and sure and keep running.

The sounds of the bear struggles are becoming distant, thought not far away. She runs, blinded to anything but the though of the open road and freedom. If she runs far enough, she will escape- this she tells herself avidly. Her fur is slick with blood. The slow gate of this form, normally right with the roll of muscle and strength, is now too slow and weighs too much. Shifting, she is her mortal self again.

Breathing deeply, she steadies her gate and lopes towards the road, injuries taking a back seat to the need to live. The exertion is more than she can handle in her state and she is slowed somewhat. Breathing hard, ears ringing from the head butt, she takes in her surroundings. Finally she comes to a halt, all but collapsing into the path. Heaving, she pulls open her bags and fumbles with the bread and water. Healing isn't fueled by magic alone. Her body is starved for nutrition.

She was careless. Admitting faults fees some of the fog from her brain. Yes, what she close to hunt was indeed a bit strong for her. She killed one that was already injured but wasted her time and mental capacity with needless exertions. The fire of the moon could have been a healing spell instead and perhaps she would have two bears to bring home… And now she has none, losing the dead bear to the live bear when she fled.

Half the bread and water are down her throat before she realizes it is gone. It isnt enough to take care of the worst of the wounds but as she relaxes into the shade, the sun streaming onto her face, her mind very slowly uncurls.

Her thoughts are drifting when she senses the presence of enemy. To her feet in an instant she looks around. Nothing. She senses nothing..

The wildcat slams into her, full of quick life. Elune! Why had she been so foolish… Tearing free of the claws once only to be caught by them again. Her forearms are shredded. She screams, a high-pitched sound. The dark cat answers with it's own shrill song. It is slender and full of grace. It moves with ease, much more energized than the little Druid. It's lithe and speed and agile form is behind her in a second flat, stunning her, shredding from shoulder to calf. The wounds cross over the other set left by the first bear. She cries again and falls to the ground.

There is nothing left. Her wounds bleed. Her body shivers in pain. Dimming green eyes are blinded with the tears of regret. _May__the__Goddess__watch__over__me,__in__this__world__and__the__next__…_

The cat screams, a high pitched and shrill sound. Scrambling to get out of the clearing it is thrashing threw the undergrowth and dashing away in fear. Bloody talons rake and claw at anything to get away from her. It smashes threw the foliage, tripping in it's frenzy. Flying head over shoulders, it lands with an almost inaudible thud. Righting itself in no time flat, he tares off into the gathering sunlight.

Gone. For a second she is wondering if Elune had heard her plea. That isn't how it works though… so what was it? Surely the cat was not afraid of her, a dying Druid?

The sound of something big moves behind her. Closing her eyes she all but gives up. The cat must have seen something bigger and run for its life. Pulling her knees to her chin she waits for it to decent on her with a killing blow.

"Mmmm, Druid." A dry and half husky voice purrs, "Lets see if we can't make her turn into a bear. I know a nice recipe for bear burgers."

Another voice chuckles slightly, "I doubt you'll get any good meat off of her even if she were a bear." This voice is not the dry female voice of before. It is masculine and soft, a cultured voice. A reasonable voice.

"Were you watching?" The husky voice croaks, "She got tenderized by two bears and a wildcat. She's squishy now."

"Being pulverized does not make her edible." The male says softly. "Quite the opposite in fact."

"Spoilsport." The woman hisses.

The Druid can feel the gaze of the pair. One, she knows is a warlock. The pure hatred in the fel energy emanating from it is unmistakable.

"She'll make a nice imp."

No! Struggling to stand, she tries to run away. The path the cat took is marked with broken branches and torn foliage. Feet under her, she turns to run… only to find the warlock blocking her path. _Undead!__Horde__scum__in__Auberdine!__Oh,__Elune,__let__me__make__it__home.__I__have__to__warn__my__village!_

Panicked, she turns to run towards the road once more. This time she runs into the owner of the cultured and reasonable voice. Gazing up quickly, trying to gage this threat, she meets soft amber eye with harsh green eye. Not level, for he is a grown man and she is just beyond childhood.

He is beautiful, her first though of him. Cool and collected, he gazes down at her. His face is elven and aristocratic. His stance is easy, the tall and upright posture of a fallen noble. His hair is long and black, slick from expense and care. It falls unbound as a symbol of his rank in his society. There was no need to bind it up, no one can touch him. The air about him says he is used to being in command. And wise. She sees it in his features; he lives in wisdom, a leader. A Priest.

A Blood Elf. Distant relation to her own people, they are cousins. The reason the Well of Eternity is gone… The reason over 2/3 of the world exploded. Because of Azshara and her Priestesses. Most of them died off in the following wars or were turned into Satyrs and Naga. The few that remained had fled before the Dark Portal was opened. Their reckless use of magic caused them to be banished from the kaldorie lands. It took them over a lifetime to find a place to settle. And an immortal lifetime is long enough for them to lose their shade dark skin, for their ears to shorten in response to the cold winters they had to endure and for their high to diminish a bit. They were no longer Night Elves of Nobility… they became High Elves, then Blood Elves… and they on the verge of extinction.

This one looked down at her with a smooth face that only betrayed his curiosity. The Druid wondered how many of her kind he saw up close that wasn't trying to kill him. She had never seen a member of the Horde up close. Just the ones who attacked the towns, and the guards drove them off eventually.

She backs up in haste. The only way to go was back to the bear that had nearly killed her. Compared to what these two will do to her, she would take the bear! Turning to run, her strength gives out. She falls to the earth with a cry of despair. There is nothing left to run with... and nowhere to go really. To be killed by Horde or killed by a bear… it was all the same. She hoped the Priest would be the one to do it. The Warlock would steal her soul and prevent her from being given to the Grace of Elune, where she would some day come back in life and run the cool forest again.


	4. Jetadiah and Corrosa

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

Reuploaded Dec, 11

Changed some spelling and obvious grammatical errors.

Added a few clarifying descriptions.

Added details to the ending passage that were accidentally left out.

~*~ Chapter 3 ~*~

She lies there, panting, the life bleeding from her body. The chill sets in despite the warmth of the sun coming up threw the trees. Hoping she might feel the warmth of it touch her skin before it grows too cold, she waits to feel it before she would let go of life.

"Oh goody!" the Undead says threw death dry lips, "I never grow tired of seeing Night Elves die. Pity I can't help."

She's cruel, the Druid thinks. My dying breathes for her amusement. Tears threaten her eyes once again. She looks up at them in silence.

The beautiful priest gazes at her still. He is thinking, his mind wandering on some journey only the intellectuals take. He doesn't really see her. She doesn't know what he sees when he looks at her.

The Undead is stooped with evil. Her bones show threw her skin at places. Her fingers are bleached white with the sun; her skin a death pallor without blood. Her appearance is not at all unpleasant. In life she was a slim beauty. In death it can be said she retains a good bit of that beauty in the smooth features of her face and the grace of her swaying stance. Her hair is up in pigtails, a mocking gesture to the Gnomes for sure. She needs no one's approval. Warlocks are bound to no government, kingdom or ruler. Though they may be loyal to the race of their origin they are in all fact a class unto themselves.

This one glared. She was a true hater of the Alliance. Anything of that faction was fair game, even its innocent children. A grin took over her features. With one hand she made a gesture. With that hand she linked her will to that of the Druids… and pulled.

"No…" the little Druid whispered in terror. She tried to get up, to flee, and to break the bond. The Warlock meant to take her soul! Desperately she ravaged her hearthstone of any energy it had left. There was just enough to change into the Dishu form. Before she could gather herself for a change, she felt a curse of weakness fall upon her. It binds her legs together, making her unable to run. "No _no__no_.." she sobs, still trying to move away.

"Corrosa…" The Priests coxes gently.

"Hush!" The Warlock snaps back.

"Her soul is too weak to be of use to you," his persuasive voice croons. The Druid gets the feeling he has to intervene often. He certainly sounds practiced. "Your demons require more. You won't be able to draw them from the Nether with what little she has to give."

The spell stopped. The Warlock glared at the Priest. "Spoilsport." She hisses at him. "Why don't you keep her for a pet if I can't?" she cackled

Now the priest looks at the Druid. The Druid is stunned. Stalemate. She can't run… the Warlock isn't going to take her soul… what will the Priest do?

He glides towards her, the hem of his robe whispering over the dirt of the path. Flinching she closes her eyes and draws her knees up to her chin once more. Bracing herself she waits for the worst. Instead she feels a light touch on her ear. It travels from her hairline to the tip and back around again. The back of one finger brushes her cheek.

"Oh, now your gonna get all sentimental, aren't you?" The Undead rattles her nails in displeasure.

"No everything has to die." He whispers.

The Druid knows then that this Priest follows the path of healing. His mind is filled with pure and Holy energy of the Light. Life is as sacred to him as the earth and moon are to the Druids of her own path.

"Not everything gets to live," the Warlock says bitterly. But she turns and walks back a ways, watching the pair with glowing yellow eyes. Her robe, dark blue and red in garish angles and layers, fights over her slim frame. It covered what parts of her hadn't make it threw the change to Forsaken. Still, the Druid though, she was pretty in her own jaded way.

The Priest's robes are dark blue and light, layered in grace that curved around his body. From the waste hangs a lock on two chains. It's meaning only the Priest knows. From his shoulders are mounted the wings of the Ethereal. His complexion and hair match his robes. From his waist hangs a mace made of a shining stone and a book on one side full of the spells of his craft. The stone is smooth from lack of physical use, but covered instead with runes. So many runes, they curved around the stone. Around and around in a non-stop row, they even travel down the heavy thorium handle. They glow with power, making the stone a bright white light of Holy power. Very powerful. Healing spells, the Druid knew. She had seen similar used by the Priests of her own race. Spells for quick healing, spells for mental intellect, spells for clear thinking, spells that would turn the smallest of heals into heals that would bind the bone and blood of an entire group back to full health with very little effort.

She knew the set he wore. Only very few had the skill to acquire these pieces. He must be a triage healer on a battlefield. How many battles he had seen, she knew not. There is enough darkness behind his eyes when he took in her wounds that he could and would, were she Horde, bring her back from death with a wink of his glowing eye. He saw horrors she never dreamed and must be a very good healer indeed for the leader of the Horde to have this set fashioned for him. Thrall, no doubt, invested a great deal in making sure his best were geared for battle properly.

She wonders briefly how he had traveled down his path. And how he, who holds life sacred, could come to travel with a warlock who holds in contempt anything that is alive and capable of love. Aren't they two sides of the same coin?

His eyes are blank as he gazed at her. Behind the green are the whites of eyes that saw vision. The Warlock cackles and calls her minion out of the bush. It took care of the cat, no doubt. Short and bone thin, the imp fairly glows with evil Fel energy. It's huge eyes bounce from object to object, long ears twitching. In it's nervous state, it jumps and hops and skips. Occasionally it does summersaults and back flips. It does not feel at home in the mortal world, and often voices complaint. It longs for the safety of the Nether, from which it was pulled, tempted by the soul of the Warlocks last victim.

Feeling the cold of the forest set in, she closes her eyes and prepares to die.

The Priest speaks then, "Do you wish to die, little Druid?"

She opens her eyes, brows knitting together. She is sad. Why ask her this; it is cruel. "I want to help my family..." she whispers. It is the truth of things.

"You killed two bears, little Druid. I can see the meat safely to your village."

She smiles. Why be so kind to her? Surely he has killed and helps kill so many of her kind. Surely he holds her race in contempt? Hers survives, pure and unchanged while the nobles who would become the Blood Elves had been driven out and were now on the brink of extinction. They hate her kind above all other Alliance races. Hated them because they had survived despite it all.

"I want the bears." The Warlock said simply.

The Priest seems to ignore her. The Warlock seems used to this. "Would you like that, little child?"

She nods, as best she can. The pain and cold are stiffening her joints; stiffening muscles into tight knots. She isn't thinking clearly.

He stroked her cheek once more with long, elegant fingers. "She's about to kick it!" the Warlock said with glee.

"No," the Priest says, "she's not." The Warlock hissed even as the Druid becomes quite confused. The Priest stands, moves his hands, and whispers words she doesn't understand. What is he doing?

The strength of the healing spell causes her entire body to be pulled into the air. Golden leaves, so like the green leaves of her own healing spells, swirl around her in pure golden Light. Nothing is bad. Evil does not exist. The world is ok. The universe is Perfect. Fel is too weak to harm anyone… Her body knits chunks of loose flesh and ripped meat sliding back into place. The pain vanishes, filling her with a Holy glow. She knows joy, elation, love, hope, happiness… the same emotion and yet all different. She weeps with the feeling. It takes her over completely. She drowns in it, going under, taken over.

Sleep overtakes her. But not before she heard the Warlock say, "Your in a mess of trouble if anyone finds out about this, Jet." She cares? The Warlock cares? The Undead, the Fel soul, a Tainted One… she cared? Perplexed, she fell into sleep.

The little Druid dreamt then.

The Priest was in it. He was in a house she didn't recognize. It is clearly the architecture of the High Elves, blue and gold and white and red all in flowing sharp edges. It is beautiful and warm. The furniture is plush and nice. The air is sweet with incense. There is a floating harp in the background that plays itself. The Priest is young. Perhaps 7 or 8. His hair is long even then, though she can make out neither color nor style. His face is kind. He hasn't seen the cold and cruel maiming of enemies in screaming anger; he has never smelled blood; he never healed a serious wound. He is innocent. Another Elfin child whose destiny is chosen for him.

He is reading. She can't make out the book. With one hand he idly makes sparks of golden light. Then green. Then blue. Then white. The book, she can figure out, is a general book about magic. Like every child of the Horde or Alliance, he has books of magic and history and lore shoved under his nose as soon as he can read. He is made, like them all, to choose a path as soon as possible. He will be pressed into service as soon as he can.

His hand grows cold with the blue, then warm again with the red energy. He burns himself and drops the little ball of fire. It goes out like an ember. The gold surrounds his hand now, conjured up without at thought. It heals. Even if he didn't know the path that was most natural to him now, the Druid certainly saw a Healer in him.

He sighs and relaxes into the cushy feinting couch. The book bores him. Life bores him.

He glances outside threw the glass of a purple shaded window. There are golden beaches in the distance, and a harbor with massed ships with purple sails bearing the images of a horse with a horn on its head. He does not want books or magic or war or peace… he wants the open ocean and strong breeze.

He wants freedom.


	5. Meat Sack

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

Reuploaded Dec, 16

List of Fixes:

Obvious spelling, grammatical and consistency errors (in writing style as well as story).

Tense changes: should now all be in present tense.

Requiring the plot point of this chapter, now properly accredited to Corrosa as well as Sylvannas.

Removed all references to growing up in the sticks from the Warlocks vernacular (most people don't know what "fatback" is or what o do with it), dialect ("Get us a [whatever] to do [whatever]" replaced with "Find a [whatever] to do [whatever]") and vocabulary ("Yall, aint and yonder")… I hope.

~*~ Chapter 4 ~*~

She awakens with a start, moving but unable to see a think. It takes a minute to realize she's tucked inside a pack of some kind that is slung across the backside of a horse. The skin of the horse is hard as plate, with ridges. It's warmer than a normal horse, almost hot.

"Wake up little meat sack." The Warlock jeers. The buttons on the top of the pack come open, her head slides out, looking around. She is in her feline form, dark blue skin rippling with energy. The area around them is dead of plant life. The ground calls out for healing. It's all she can do not to answer. She mewls in mourning for what this land has lost. "Bleeding heart, isn't she?" This takes her by surprise that the Warlock knows her feelings for the land.

In the distance black smoke rises from several different places. The scarred land sees only a few bones and vultures. The vultures do not see the wolves. The wolves do not see the Priest and his traveling companion. They do see her.

From a distance she sees one coming, full speed, snapping, snarling and desperate with hunger. Tensing, she slides out of the bag and lands in a graceful coil on the dusty red ground. It's not long before it's right on top of her. Oh, it is huge! Five times or more her size, with the strength to back it. Before it's jaws can touch her, a pillar of golden Light streams from the sky and slams the wolf into the dust and despair of the land. Bright energy crackles on its dark red fur. It dies almost immediately.

The Warlock snorts, "One shot. Stupid wolf." She is behind the Druid, who is staring at the wolf's copse, mourning in a small way, the loss of life on her behalf. She glances back at the Warlock who has her black cloak masking her figure; the hood is drawn full up against the midday sun. Only the unblinking hard yellow eyes show. It was her horse the Druid had been riding.

The Druid wheals around and backs away from the angry demon steed. Its hide is fel-scales and ash. The main is dancing ribbons of fire, caught up in a Nether wind. The tail drips lava where the steal hairs melt bit by bit even as they grew Hot waves of heat seep from the mouth and nose, making everything wavy around the beast's great horned head. The eyes glow with seething hatred: it is irate at being the Warlock's prisoner and will murder her if it could. It would kill everything. The monster was an inferno covered in scales.

"There, there. He won't bite." The Priest spoke gently to the frightened Druid. He and his own mount, a reanimated warhorse covered in the red livery of the Horde, were waiting not far from the wolf. He had been the one to kill it; the Warlock had just sat there hoping to see her die.

The little Druid creeps towards him. No doubt he had won the argument with his companion over who would carry her. The backside of his Warhorse is pointed bone and would be very uncomfortable.

Another wolf came running. She tenses, turns and readies for a fight. Spinning, the Warlock flung a bolt of radiating green hatred at the wolf. It slams into the animal so hard that it's flung over backward and lands in a heap of dead flesh. No more wolves came.

The Druid still creeps towards the Priest. She doesn't trust the Warlock. No one should be able to do something like that without trying. The warlock smirks. "Looks like she wants to ride with you."

The priest sighs. "She can't," he states plainly.

Curious, the Druid wants to know why she can't. She sits at the Priest's feet and waits for him to explain. The end of her tail thumps the ground absently. After a moment the Priest looks down at her.

"Corrosa is going to let you ride on her Dreadstead. I'd suggest you stay in the bag if you don't want to get seen by the local wildlife."

The Druid can hear the warlock _harumph_ and cross her arms in agitation. The demon stead snorts and tosses it's head, as if it is trying to toss aside the mental control the warlock has over it. "Get in the bag, Kitty, we don't got all day to wait for you." With that command, the Forsaken settles the cloak around her so that sunlight never touches her undead skin and takes up the reins once more.

Looking back up at the Priest, the Druid begs with a look to be allowed to ride with him instead. Reaching down, the Blood Elf scratches her chin- the catches himself with an amused smile. "Corrosa here is a very fine tailor and a master spellcaster. She has made a bag that will hide you from the outside world. It doesn't work if you are on this side of the protective sigils." It must be his nature to be so focused, she thought. Supposing his companion made up for it though. _How__exactly__do__you__have_that_for__a__companion?_

She glances back at the warlock, who was making a noise not unlike the sizzle of cooking flesh, and hung her head. She'll do what the Priest asked because he saved her life. She walks back to the warlock and leaps up to the back of the great stead. It snorted at her approach and tries to buck at her mounting. The fel scales of its flank were as hot as the midday sun. She will be glad in being inside the bag to be away from the sun and dust. And, indeed, she would not be able to survive even one blow from the local wildlife.

Climbing inside the back, she allows the warlock of fasten the button, sharpened finger tips moving with quick percussion.

She wonders, for the first time now that she isn't in some serious danger, where she was and why they have taken her. Suddenly her heart leaps- the Warlock had asked the Priest why he didn't keep her for a pet if she can't. _Oh,__Elune!__To__be__the__pet__thing__of__the__Horde!__To__be__the__pet__of__a__Blood__Elf!__To__be__made__to__keep__a__Warlock__and__demons__for__company!__Elune__…__!_

"Settle down in there or I'll settle you down." The Warlock hisses. _Did__I__move?_ She wonders… _Did__I__make__a__sound_? "You don't gotta make a sound, I can feel you getting antsy."

With that the little Druid settles down. Obviously the Warlock had hidden talents or skills for reading people or feeling what was going on around her. It only made her more evil in the Druid's mind.

They ride for long stretches of time. At times they walked and at times they galloped. The dead steed and the demon steed do not have mortal weaknesses like fatigue; the pace depends entirely on the whim of the riders. The Priest leads the way. At some points the Druid can hear scorpions or wild dogs. She can hear fire crackling and smell what she thinks must be lava. The bag protects her from the heat and the harsh winds, from being found by the other animals and seems to even protect her against the despair that cries out from the land. The Warlock's tailoring is good but the priest must have added some protective spells of his own.

At last they come to a stopping point. Threw the bag, with her refined feline hearing, there comes the sound of an exchange with a goblin; then the deep and cultured voice of another Blood Elf. The Warlock got off her mount and spoke as well. The Blood Elf made a quip about the Forsaken… the Priest had to repair the damage. The Warlock gets what they came for and they go on their way.

"If we didn't have the meat sack with us, we could just get a mage to take us back to Orgrimmar-" the Warlock was saying.

At the mention of Orgrimmar, the Druid tried to jump up and voice her complaints at the same time. The Warlock laughed so hard she was holding her sides in fits as the cat in the bag tried to claw it's way out. Mewling in distress and protest, the Druid struggled for a long moment before realizing she wasn't shifting into her elven form.

Perplexed, she stopped struggling. Shifting was something that was as natural to her as breathing. Not being able to shift was… unnatural. "Mrow… mroooowww…" she mewled. Sounding just like the cat in a bag that she was, she demanded to be let out in literally as few words as possible.

The Warlock just laughed more. She wheezed and gasped and thumped the metallic scales of the demonic beast they ride. "Does the meat sack want out? Auntie Corrosa will let you out…"


	6. Finest Gnomish Engineering

Reuploaded Dec 24, 11

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

This was the last chapter I wrote before Wrath of the Litch King came out. A month into LK and my guild downed Naxx in one night. I quite PvE in disgust and this story fell by the wayside. Then Cata came out and the lore-whore in me snatched this out of the jaws of oblivion.

~ Fixes~

Obvious grammar errors, such as a lot of misplaced commas. Fixed obvious spelling errors. Fleshed out some descriptions. Fixed some of the worst run on sentences. Tried to find other ways to say 'said' and remove some of the 'he' and 'she' that pepper the paragraphs way too much for my liking.

~*~ Chapter 5 ~*~

"No, you won't." The Priest assured. His voice could be heard clearly threw the bag despite the fact that he and his horse had kept moving.

"Mrooowww…?"

"He's worried the oogie-boogies are gonna get you before he's got a chance to give you to Thrall- Oh, we got a live one here!"

At the mention of the Horde Warchief the Druid went wild, survival as her only instinct. She would not survive two bears and a wildcat only to be healed to full health and handed over to the Orcs! To be the pet of the Priest was one thing, she owed him her life and would humor him for a while till he got bored and sent her home, but to be anywhere near something as evil as Thrall…? No. Never!

Long claws raked the inside of the back as the cat fought with all her strength to shift into another form and undo the buttons. When her body failed to shift still, she reached for the power to the Druid haven of Moonglade. _I know I owe you,_ she though, _but your asking too much…_

Blocked! She was blocked from using the teleportation spell. It was as if there were some kind of invisible wall between her and the natural powers that came so easily to a Druid. She couldn't even conjure an ounce of Elune or Cenarion's light inside the bag. "Mrooowwww!" She called in distress. "Mrowww!"

The Priest sighed, turned his horse around and came back.. The Druid blushed inside blue fur. Helpless as her position was he was going let her out or else she's make a fuss all the way to Orgrimmar! Her father often told her she had that kind of persistent stubbornness that bordered on insane when she put her mind to doing something just to annoy someone else.

The Priest opened the bag, but put his hand up to stop the frightened cat from jumping out. His glowing green eyes were soft but his expression was weary. He'd just had to heal a rude vendor who had upset his companion and been set on fire by her. Traveling with the Warlock must be where his patience comes from.

"Listen, little one, do not take everything my companion here says seriously. Yes, we are going to Orgrimmar, though I doubt you'll warrant Thrall's attention. Chill. Seriously." The childish words surprised the Druid and made her wonder if he was only pretending to be as mature as he seemed.

"Mrrrrww…" The Druid tried to shift again and could not, even with the bag open. The Priest leaned over and slipped his finger under a collar she didn't realize she was wearing. The smell of the holy and fel energies emanating from him made her wrinkle her nose and sneeze. The hand withdrew, it's owner knowing even better than she why a Kal'dorie was sensitive to such magic.

"You won't warrant Thrall's attention," He said again, "You're blocked from calling on the powers of nature, as much to keep you hidden as to keep you from running off. No shifting, no teleporting, no healing" The very still and blank look she was giving him made him smile. He was a bit sadistic after all, she saw. "You can thank you fellow Alliance for this invention. Gnomish engineering at it's finest. A collar to make a pet out of any animal, with fully customizable features." He grinned. It wasn't lost on her that this meant the collar AND the pet were fully customizable…

_I hope you get a cavity in those pearly whites. I hope it hurts. _Immediately she felt guilty of such a thing and wondered if at any point in her training as a Druid would she ever learn to heal dental problems.

Her tail thumped. He was too pretty. Damn him. She loved the hair. Sighing, she laid her head down between her paws and he buttoned the bag back up. She resolved to say calm… she would... all threw Orgrimmar… the capital city of the Horde nation… where Thrall lives… the Warchief of the Horde... Leader of

her enemies…

~ Two Days Latter ~

_Feed meeeee… Feeeeed meee!_

How long had they been traveling? The only time they had stopped was for the bathroom breaks that gave the warlock an opportunity to flex her skill at customizing the death of everything around her. Murlocs, Dwarves, cows – all were fair game if they could be made to give up a ghost in as many screams as possible.

She had been allowed out of the bag for only a few minutes at a time to stretch her legs. Finding out the hard way that the thin metal collar had a mind-numbing range indicator on it had been the highlight of one of these stops. She was getting used to the Warlocks smoky howls of laughter.

Three days and no food was just mean and the mewling-mewling-mewling that accompanied each exit and return to the bag only earned her a blank face from the Priest. Were the Horde so evil that hatred for all things sacred was enough to fuel their bodies? Did they not eat… ever?

Her tummy has stopped rumbling by the second day and now even her hunger has ceased. Her body was running on what fat and food she had when she had been taken from Dark Shore. If they didn't feed her soon she was going to start starving.

And the endless riding! How did they do this all the time? The motion of the horse, the heat from the internal inferno, the smell of the imp who sat beside her bag and complained constantly- they were going to addle her brains!

"Mrrooowww." She complained to no one in general. Just a reminder that she was still there… still hungry… still not wanting to visit Orgrimamr.

"Suck it up, sista! You aint the only one sick of being on the back of this thing. You think I wanna be here too?" It was the imp speaking. The Druid had heard him called Ziltip? He thumped the bag to emphasize his point; "These two are apparently really good at taking natives out of their respective habitats and making fools of them in public. I got a Warlock's curse on me and you got a High Priest's home-forged toy around your skinny neck. Both stop us from leaving. Deal with it."

"The 'toy'," the priest boasted in the tone of voice he used to indicate he was busy and didn't really want to enter the conversation, "is the highest quality of engineering know to any race on Azeroth or threw the Dark Portal."

"Speaking of Dark Portal…!" the Warlock cut in but was cut off just as fast.

"No. Again." The Druid was beginning to differentiate the different tones of voice the Priest used. The one was Persistence Killer and was used when the Warlock wouldn't stop harping on an issue and he had to make her stop or he'd lose it.

_Don't know why you don't just mind control her and toss her off a cliff…_ the Druid though. _Then I could get out of this bag, go threw HER bag and eat whatever food I KNOW the two of brought with you._ Even the diehard Druid inside her was unable to feel bad about the idea. The fact that the idea even came to her made her unhappy. She blamed it on her forced companionship with Horde scum. "Mrooooo" she complained again. "FEED ME!" is what she wanted to scream and would have had she the mouth to form the words.

"What's got you up in a fuss? We just stopped for potty break a few hours ago." The Warlock really didn't care; still nose deep in her evil tomes as she spoke, but obviously sharing the boredom and travel weariness.

The 'potty break' has been about five minutes and there just happen to be a stream within the collar's short range from which she could drink. The Warlock had laid waste to a Murloc village and plundered their main structure for slimy riches. Hungry as the Druid was, she wouldn't allow herself to go threw the property of murder victims for food. Saying the proper prayers to Elune even as the unholy imp, who was apparently in chare of keeping up with her when she went potty, was driving her back to the bag.

Sighing, the little Druid went back to her meditations and prayers. They all started off with "Please, Elune, if you love me at all, keep me as far away from Thrall as you possibly can!"

~ Two Days Latter ~

Two more days in the bag and the Druid had had enough. This time when they let her out she refused to get back in. She could feel herself wasting away from the hunger, her energy waxing and waning by shear determination. She would sit on the horse's rump but she was NOT getting back into the bag.

"Get in the bag, stupid kitty!" The Warlock hissed. Ziltip did a backflip away from her and stood ready to open fire if he needed to.

The Druid almost hissed at her. She sat on the horse's rump, tail lashing in irritation, but staring down the Warlock. The undead being was several feet shorter than the Druid from standing on the ground. Even from her diminished higher she was still somehow much more impressive to behold than angry feral Druid sitting on a demon horse. They were going to have to PUT her in the bag-!

Rabbit? …

Rabbit..?

RABITRABITRABIT!

The little Druid tore off the horse's flanks, causing the demon spawn to lash out with hoof and horn and almost gore the Warlock. Caught off guard, the Warlock ordered one demon after the Druid and the other to be still.

The Dreadstead took off after her! Hundreds of pounds of molten rage came pounding threw the forests, thundering up dust and debris as the Druid tore after a white rabbit. _It was here_, she though, _it was right here!_ She stopped and sniffed, almost getting trampled by the demon horse as it rounded the tree after her.

The bunny fled from under a log, more scared of the flaming menace than of the sickly Druid. The Druid tried to stealth but could not, nor could she use any of her other special feral abilities. What she had was speed and teeth.

"Corrosa!" It was the Priest, back from wherever he wandered off to during their short stops. The Druid couldn't see him but she could certainly tell he was upset.

"I'm trying, the damn thing wants blood!" The Warlock sounded more frazzled than panicked. She'd made a mistake and sent the wrong demon.

"It wants _your_ blood, why is it chasing my Druid?"

"I don't have any fel-damned blood to give it. Just shut up for a second!" The feeling of fel energy being gathered was not as important to the Druid as getting that damned rabbit!

All three of them rounded a bend at the same time, rabbit in front and Dreadstead in back. The noise of the raging beast, the sound of whipping grass were not nearly as startling as the screams of the rabbit when it made a fetal turn and was snatched out of the air by the jaws of a starving feral cat.

Right when the hooves of the Dreadstead, whom the Druid just now realized was right on top of her, were about to come down, the animal vanished in a poof of gray Nether dust. Blinking, the Druid turned towards the Warlock and Priest, who were striding over with very serious looks in their eye. _My food!_ she though, back in up with the dying rabbit in her mouth. The taste of blood and the feel of the pumping heart against her fangs reawakened her predator.

The Warlock stopped, "Go ahead and eat it."

The Priest kept moving towards the Druid but gave the Warlock a look over his shoulder. His long hair flip-flaped side to side as he shook his head. The Druid kept backing up. "You can't eat that." He said plainly, as if that were all she needed to know.

_Watch me_. Did they think she couldn't hunt for herself? There was almost a blush when memories of the impression she made at their first meeting drifted forward. A dying Druid and nothing to show for it certainly would make one question her ability to fend for herself.

Thoughts of her family came next, and wondered if the Priest did indeed get the bear carcasses to them as promised. She had been unable to ask him for obvious reasons.

"Eat that and you'll shift into something far less intimidating than a she-kitten Druid."

"I have a rabbit stew recipe with you as the main attraction." The Warlock smiled. Undead shouldn't have teeth that shade of mossy white; at least not this one.

Confused, the Druid stopped backing up. "You can't eat anything till we get to Orgrimmar." She meweled at him around her mouth full of fluff and gave a disbelieving look…. as close as she could with her kitty features. "The collar is… um… "

"Enchanted!" the Warlock supplied

"Thank you," The Priest said over his shoulder. The Warlock smiled again. The Druid got the feeling he was thanking her in an ironic way... that maybe she had something…

The Druid growled and glared at the Warlock. She dropped the rabbit and, as if it were never hurt, it bounded away faster than she though possible. Guess the will to survive is stronger in the prey than the predators.

She knew what it was. The Priest had given the collar to the Warlock at some point, to hold for a second or to be the one to put it on the Druid, and the Warlock had enchanted it to make the Druid into anything she ate. Maybe permanently.

The Warlock gave a familiar whooping laughter. Ziltip danced at her side, nervous as ever.


	7. Endless Call to Arms

~ Author's Notes ~

I suppose Jet doesn't have to wear trinkets as earrings but nothing looks manlier than a charm bracelet, right?

~Fixes ~

Reuploaded: Dec 26

Basically this chapter got fleshed out, almost a half a page of additions and changes. The changes are probably enough to make it worth rereading though the only real change is that I'm retconing the Druid's age back to fourteen down from the cliché sixteen.

~*~ Chapter 6 ~*~

Though their reasons for taking the long way from Darkshore to Orgrimmar – the _long_ way- was unknown, the energies of the lands along with the sights, sounds and smells told the Druid exactly who owned the territory. From traveler's gossip she surmised names.

First stop was Searing Gorge, to pick up something for the Warlock. The wishy-washy Dark Iron Dwarfs - whoever they were - were up to no good; the Druid could tell by their tone of voice. Such sweet lies. Fortunately, or perhaps not, the Warlock caught on. She got after one of the Generals with her wicked spell blade, cornering him in a demonic circle and faying strips of flesh from is face. The item they were withholding – pending a higher asking price – was quickly handed over. Discounted even when the Priest patiently reattached the man's skin to his muscles. The effect was an improvement, or so the Warlock said.

The Dark Iron thanked them for the business and they were on their way.

After that it was the cool forests of Darkshire so Jetadiah could help exercise some specters who had found their way into Medivh's old castle. From overhearing the familiarity with the others in the group, the young Druid got the impression he was called on to do this allot, and handsomely paid. The shiny new earrings Jet wore, both on one ear, as he remounted his warhorse latter that evening sparked with a formerly malevolent glow. No doubt the Priest's pure spirit would purge the remaining taint and they would once more be used for good.

The Warlock had complained that she never got anything new. The Priest asked what happened to the item they had gotten from the Dark Iron. The Warlock replied that it didn't count; she hadn't gotten to kill anyone to get it. She ignored the Priest when he pointed out everyone in the old castle was already dead, not convinced the others in the group hadn't gotten to reek havoc and misery. She also ignored her companion when he pointed out that she had also been invited to the group and declined because there was already another Warlock. The man had been threatened with dire consequences should he think to take anything the Forsaken woman wanted. This promptly got her uninvited.

"I keep telling you to practice some people skills." The Priest preached.

"I got us a discount from the Dark Iron!" the Warlock argued, "How is that not people skill?"

No one bothered to argue. The Druid had still been nursing bruises from being beaten half to death by a baby Ogre. The Priest had admonished her, reminding her over and over that he had advised staying in the bag.

_I didn't think the babies would hit that hard!_ She all but wailed this into his palm as he repaired a loose fang.

After leaving Darkshire, it was over to the dead lands formerly belonged to the Blood Elves. Those fallen nobles of the Nigh Elf race who have repeatedly brought about their destruction threw their continued pursuit of the magical arts. As if inviting Sargaras to Azeroth had not been enough; as if inadvertently inviting the Orcs to Azeroth has not been enough; as if blowing up two-thirds of the world and causing the Plague of Undeath to begin with was not enough. Even when their nation was once again brought to ruin… still they pursue the magical arts.

This was the Druid's opinion at least. The Highbourn were the cause of all the world's major problems, and most of the minor as far as she was educated to believe and concerned.

This time when the Warlock was asked to join the group she accepted and kept her mouth shut, despite the Shadow Sister giving her the Evil Eye from across the way. When she and the Priest arrived at the appointed meeting place, the group of Trolls and Tauren adventurers waiting outside were at once wary and relieved. Not often did the Warlock accept one of the Horde's calls to service. She more or less devoted her time to making sure no one took advantage of her more cooperative traveling companion.

This last fact had dawned on the Druid gradually. Corrosa's role in the Priest's life was both mandatory and permanent. She and he was an odd match.

The war with the Amani Trolls over the land that once belonged to them had escalated. They were taking prisoners now and a rescue mission was underway. The group had to choose between a gifted healer and a very powerful Warlock. One who needed to be reminded that it was a _rescue_ mission early and often. One who could start at the beginning of the Troll city and not stop till she got to the end, sucking out her own life to fuel her malevolent spells- so long as she had a healer to restore the missing life. Though the group tried to convince them both to come, the Priest simply declined. Arguing risked setting the Warlock off and so it was decided.

Off she went then, up the lane and out of sight towards the massive gates of the last Amani stronghold. Jetadiah had chosen a camp away from everyone else, where he could let his captive out of her bag to roam around and stretch her legs. The lessons was learned in Duskwood; she needed to be allowed to run and play else she would do something stupid just to get to hunt and play.

When it had been the Priest who was in Karazhan, and after the Warlock had laughed herself into a fit watching the Druid get pulverized by a toddler Ogre bigger than she, the Druid had opted to find a spot in the bush to sprawl and had stayed there. That is, till the Warlock began chanting her Light-forsaking spells over the fire and filled the whole place with the moaning wails of demons.

In a panic, the Druid had attempted to run and been knocked senseless by the collar's anti-escape failsafe. When she awoke, the Priest was just re-fitting the collar back onto her neck after repairs and the Warlock was scowling in the background, arms crossed. She didn't say anything, having just been admonished by the Priest for scaring his pet so bad she had triggered that particular feature.

The Warlock and the Druid gave each other space and heated glares all the way to the last bastion of the Amani Empire. The Priest ignored them both, head and shoulders stiff from his pretense.

The local life in the last few territories they traveled threw were no threat to her and yet the Druid still traveled in the bag on back of the demon horse. Or, as the Warlock often called it, "Damnyou Holdstill!" whenever she was attempting to reload supplies onto the thing.

Any Alliance who saw the traveling companion steered clear, either because they knew the individuals they gazed upon or because they knew of the deadly combination of the two pair in general. If, however, they saw they were holding one of their own captive they would surely make attempts to free her. This would be avoided if the Druid were not seen by anyone.

And they got boat and airship fare for three paying for just two!

With the Warlock gone and the Priest meditating by the fire, the bored Druid pounced on lunar moths that happened to close. Delicate as she was in her feline form, she could strike down a moth with all of her weight and it would still be capable of flight once released from under her claws. And she would pounce again.

The idea was to keep in shape, stay honed, despite the lack of food. Her body no longer cried in hunger, accustomed to the lack of food. All fat reserves were burned off, leaving a lean and trim cat where a decently fed one had been. Not that she had been fat to begin with, but amongst her people the children didn't lose all of their baby fat till they were in early adulthood. Fearful of becoming lazy as well as weak the Druid insisted on keeping up physical training.

With the last of the moths chased out of range she stood on furry paws watching it flutter away. The Priest had extended her range with the repair but not so far that she could break into a full run before the small static shocks warned her to stop. Feline haunches sat down and in the dead grass and she pouted, whining at being unable to explore the night. Or hunt. Or eat.

Shuffling sounds behind her brought her attention to the approaching Priest. His meditations had ended early; he had enjoyed seeing the playful child of a Druid leaping about after moths. That she didn't harm them, but instead let them flutter away impressed him.

"There is a reverence for life in you, child." The cultured voice bespoke the past and his long lost nobility. Though Blood Elf now, the Druid was certain he had been a High Elf once. Had been there thousands of years ago when the races separated, when they had been called the Highbourn. Had seen the rise and fall of these Highbourne. Had seen his city raised, then razed. Had been a part of the Alliance – had even seen the Banshee Queen while she lived… Yet here he was; Blood Elf; Horde; enemy.

_All of my people revere life, the Druids amongst them most of all!_ While she couldn't say these things, she thumped her tail on the ground to show her agitation and agreement. Her dream made her believe he had no known his past, else denied it, but she had known hers. Even before she could walk she knew; hand and knee she had crawled threw the roots of the forests and felt the power of nature. When she could walk, she swam in the sacred waters of the Moonwell, giving praise to Elune though she could not speak. Yes, she loved Elune but the feel of dirt under paw and the power of her feline form were stronger than the calling to the Temple-bound life of a Priest.

Smiling slightly, the Priest amended, "I meant only that the feral arts, while admirable, might not be the best you can aspire too." His expression was soft, as if in memory of someone who had given this talk to him.

_You may not have known, but I do. There is a wild beast in my heart and she will not be tamed. She is I and I am she. We can only be together._ She warbled softly when the priest came to stand besides her, looking out into the night. Down the hill a ways some of the local wildlife fought the reanimated corpses of the Amani ancestors.

She needed freedom more than anything and so the Druid path was the only real choice their had been. Her people had many paths and many professions but to become a Druid and heal the scars of the world was one of the most revered. Her mother and father were her most loving supporters. In her up close and personal pursuit of the magic and power of nature they allowed freedom above and beyond what others gave their children. What she saw and experience even as a babe forever shaped who she was and would be the rest of her life: Druid and feral and wild.

"You feel the corruption of this land." His voice hitched. After a moment to gather his nerve he spoke again, "You feel it as I do. As I did."

Startled, the Druid looked up at him. He had been here? When this happened to this land, he was here? She crooned in sadness and nudged at his hand. To see your land and your people destroyed? It wasn't fair; even if they were Horde now they had once been a part of her own race and it wasn't right that their children and children's children continue to suffer so long after the fact.

Her nose brushed his holy book, always hanging from his waist, and the power shot threw her in a warm and inviting jolt. It had done the same in Duskwood when he healed her beaten body.

No, she could not deny that the Priesthood had called to her. Though certain that her days were not mean to be spent tending to the shrines of the fallen and tirelessly working by the deathbeds of heroes, she could not lie that, as a Druid, she felt the immense pain of the corrupted lands. In sorrow she wished she were powerful enough to do something. Anything! Druids above all tend to the forests and fields of their homelands, forever content to just exist in harmony.

Of its own accord, his hand comes to rest on top of her head. This formerly strange feeling of being petted was now as familiar to her as the emptiness in her stomach. Though never when the Warlock was present the Priest had inadvertently discovered the soothing effects of petting a cat. The bigger the better it seemed. For all the stress he dealt with as part of his job, being called from every corner of the world, had made him a legend among healers. The Warlock of her own accord mitigated as much of his troubles as she was able, though unwittingly caused just as many threw her own faults.

_I'm sorry, I wish there were something I could do._ Though never giving much though to where she wanted to go with her life, or what she wanted to do to help the Alliance, she was fiercely loyal to their cause. Especially since the Orcs have made no signs of slowing their invasion of her homelands. Just a few miles away from her family home even there was an outpost on the Zoram Strands.

Taking up the feral arts had proved to be advantageous. The form of the bear, the hardest form to master according to her teachers, came to her as easily as the cat. Seeing her talents the teachers had sent her out into the field as soon as she learned to control the bear's inconsolable rage. Never afraid to stand up front and take the brunt of the damage, the ability snap and snarl in just the right way to make herself appear the biggest of the threads despite her small size – at least long enough for the enemies to be picked off from a distance – had her being called on quite a bit to clear out some of the Furbolg and Naga threads to her people's land.

_I suppose_, she though to him, even though he couldn't hear, _I will learn more about the bear aspect. I seem very good at it. Standing back and making sure everyone is healed is not my way; I prefer being in the thick of things making sure the job gets done! _

Briefly he traces a finger over her collar in a precise pattern; it glows and then dims. "Let us take a walk?" he asks, motioning to the deer trails before them. The trails are narrow and they will have to walk single file, bringing them even closer to the Amani Catacombs with their undead denizens.

Before one foot is in front of the other the Druid notices she _has_ feet. Born of two legs, a Druid must hold other forms by will and the collar had been forcibly doing so, but no longer.

Gasping, she looks down at herself then up at him. Being upright gain felt strange. Even young, she only of fourteen years, she is almost as tall as he. One day she will be even taller. Cool, almost cold, air breezes over her lightly tinted skin and causes a shiver. It ruffles the fly-aways of hair, which was still done in the Dwarven fashion with braids in a tale. Her friends had passed around a fashion publication the morning she had departed for the hunt…

Looking down, she gasped to see wearing nary a thing she had put on the day of her capture. Not even her bag. A cloth belt was fastened around her waist, on which her hearthstone was attached like a buckle, and over her starving frame was a simple white woolen dress.

"Who dressed me?" The Priest turned back to her and grinned, wicked even in his holiness.


	8. Night Elves in Qual'thalas

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

I probably got you good with the ending of the last chapter (tossed a bone out to a fan). The Druid is 16 and Jet is … immortal… and not a pedophile. I'll have to change the rating if I add lemons and right now I just want everyone who likes the story to read and enjoy, no matter what their age.

~*~ Chapter 7 ~*~

The wind moved his hair, stirred the leaves of the dead half-dead trees. Today he had put it up in a topknot, which looked both elegant and alien. Though the Druid was sure that he dressed, bathe and ate, she somehow never saw him do any of it. For a man this well kept he had a knack of carrying the appearance of indoor life wherever he went.

"Corrosa made her succubus do it." Green eyes glow mischievously, "I took a long walk. It was enough to hear the succubus' initial comments-" He choked on the rest of the sentence, remembering he was speaking to a child who knew little of such things as succubus and incubus. Or what they do for blood. One hand over his mouth still couldn't hide his semi-lecherous grin as he took in her upright form.

The little Druid hugged herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms vigorously. "I want a bath!" Hearing her own disused voice cracking with complain was a little embarrassing, but how else to communicate this very dire need? The petulant child inside her cried out for a tub, lake, river or spray bottle. Anything with water by which she could use to purge the Warlock's taint would do.

There were spiders and fleas of iciness crawling all up and down her skin, causing all shorts of revolting shivers. "I want a bath in acid! With molten hot soap and steel wool scrub brushes!" Her whined was loud, her shivering becoming violent as her she tried to calm her body down. The knowledge that any demon that belonged to_ that Warlock_ had put its hands on her… had _stripped_ her naked… and all while the Warlock _watched_.

"Oh, I cant-" She dropped into her feline form again, unable to stand the feel of the tainted dress on her skin. Skin that still somehow bore the scent of home bought heartache. It was too much to take in at that moment.

The Priest stopped smiling now, frowned as if disappointed with a child who had failed to please him. "Now, now. What is this? A fine woolen dress made by a respectable mage from Brill." When the little Druid just glared at him, not knowing where Brill was but thinking it sounded evil, he snorted, "Corrosa didn't let her succubus do anything too dirty-" Laughter was bit back when her tale lashed in irritation. Her laid-back ears and open-mouthed growl were an all around promise of revenge for this indignation.

'I'm not wearing that dress. I'll run around naked before I wear anything Horde made. Fel tainted, Elune forsaking, Goddess-less heathens…'

The Priest crossed his arms, looking both impressive and beautiful in the moonlight. This wasn't going to work. Talking to the Druid would be impossible in her feline form but she refused to be dressed in anything but her 'uncorrupted' fur till she had a bath. Rolling his eyes rather exuberantly, he smacked his lips. "Corrosa has a couple bolts of cloth if you want to see what she can make you?"

The Druid shook her head. Anything the Warlock touched was too foul to –

"You've ridden in her bag for over a week and a half now. Nothing is wrong wit you. Her tailoring is sound, untainted. The dress you have on is fine; she didn't even touch it." She heard him call her a spoiled brat without saying it.

She sulked, drooping her head between her shoulders. It wasn't like it wasn't obvious that dark and fel energies were bad. Why was he fussing at her so much? Even though she came out of her feline form exactly as she went into it, clean from the bath the succubus had given her, she still felt dirty just because it touched her.

Slowly she walked to him. She'd go on his walk, but she wouldn't wear that dress till she washed it. In lava.

Something surprising happened next. Very surprising. He grabbed her collar and, with a surge of power, forcibly transformed her into a half-grown wolfpup. She squealed and howled, death rolling out of his grip.

The smells!

The Sounds!

The BODY!

Oh, this is not right! The Druids of the Pack were cursed beasts who forsook Elune and chose to go mad rather than succumb to a demon they fought. It was forbidden!

Lunging at him, she wanted him to undo it. Her body felt weird, shaped wrong. It was too heavy in some parts, too light in others. Though not nearly as light and lithe as her feline form all her senses were going haywire. The smells!

'I want to be a cat! A cat, you hear me!" She tried to mewl and jumped at the sound that warbled out of her throat. Gagging on her own voice, she rolled on the ground, trying to scrub the wolf from her skin. "Rwowwwrrr! Akht-RWWW"

The Priest just stood with his arms crossed waiting for her fit to be over. At one point her nose was buried under the hem of his robe and rubbing against the sharp edges of his lacquer-plated travel boots. Once she realized this, she blushed furiously. How childish he must think she is? So much like a whiny prepubescent waif who never did anything new in her life. Its not like she chose to be a wolf, right? Fandral would understand…

Whining as the half-pup she was, she balanced on her hind end, wobbling a bit, begged him with both paws and eyes to explain why he had done this. 'Please, please! Don't do this to me; I just wanted a bath. That's not so much to ask.' Even now she had made up her mind stay in the forbidden canine form if the alternative was wearing the succubus' tainted dress.

Annoyed scowl, "You don't trust me at all."

'Horde, meet Alliance.'

A person such as he could not scowl for long though. He understood the limitations of her understanding even better than she. A smile bespoke understanding of her thoughts as well. "We weren't' always enemies. My people brought magic to the mortal races. And then we lost it ourselves. Ironic, yes?"

Even impressive as his admission was, she had more pressing thoughts in the front of her mind; 'Thanks for the nostalgic history lesson. Make me a cat again?' But somewhere in the back of her mind, the wisdom of a budding Druid told her to pay attention to what he was saying. Her age countered with its ever-present need to bewail her dismal situation.

The Priest inhaled the night air, seeming to blend into the shadows of the surrounding forest, "Your moonwells are glorious things. Though not powerful enough to sustain a full fledged mage, they lend power to both the Druids and the Priests of your ancient race."

'What?' The Druid new about the Moonwells, being a Druid and all…

"The Sentinels of Darnassus have been sent to deal with some of the problems that plague this land. Did you know that?"

She shakes her small not-quit-puppy head, letting herself down out of her begging posture. Glancing at her legs, she notices they are dark gray with lighter gray paws. Though just old enough to begin venturing forth into the world, she was not old enough to leave her homeland. Her village may be large and key, but she knew little of the goings on of Darnassus thousands of miles away. Or what strategic moves their leader, High Priestess Tyrande, had planned in some back wood place that belonged at once to the Blood Elves and now mostly to the Scourge.

Noticing her interest, the Priest continued softly, "I'm afraid they met with great opposition."

When she softly growled her disapproval, his tone grew sharp and unyielding. It had all been done before; it had all been done again and again. "Trying to take these lands for Darnassus when my people are trying to take them back from the Scourge, and fend off the Amani, was nigh a foolish move. Who these lands belong to is not a question; they have been Horde territory for thousands of years and will remain so as long as I live." The harsh voice softend, almost pleading for understanding, "My people have no where else to go. It is our survival we fight for."

Who these lands belonged to, the Amani Trolls or Blood Elves, the Scourge or Darnassus, was hotly debated. The Night Elves waged a personal war with the Blood Elves, blaming their predecessors for the destruction of the Well of Eternity. And the Priest had been there. What part he may or may not have played mattered little to the Druid, though. After all, its not like fighting over these decrepit lands had anything to do with her.

"Tyrande should have know better; she was never so willing to…." As an after though he added, "Else this is the work of Fandral Staghelm?"

Fandral, the leader of the Druids of Darnassus as long as anyone could remember, was slightly over nine-thousand years old, he had planted Teldrassil himself. That he would do anything 'foolish' just didn't seem possible to the Druid. Quizzically, she cocked her canine head at the Priest. 'History lesson over. Make me kitty now?'

Seeing he was getting nowhere with her as far as explaining his position in the conflict, he produced another trinket from the folds of his elaborate robes. It was a rounded orb that glowed with ancient energy. Its purpose was unknown at first. He raised it over his bowed head, closed his glowing green eyes and whispered "Keldori"

Light shot out from the orb, radiating downward and engulfed the priest. The Druid shut her eyes, covered them with a small wolfy paw, and waited for the light to subside. When she opened her eyes again, her jaw dropped open.

The Priest had become a Night Elf. It was he, she could tell, but he looked like a Night Elf! Long hair was as blue as hers, waving slightly in the wind, unbound by the former topknot. Ears had grown by almost a foot and his stature was somewhat larger. The beautiful robes had changed to chain mail and leather plates that covered him from elegant neck to deck. Behind his glowing yellow eyes she could see his fierce intelligence. A Blood Elf Priest masquerading as Nigh Elf Hunter. This should prove interesting.

Standing in front of him, several things went threw her head. Among them was where he had gotten such a trinket as could change him to look like a member of her own faction. Second was there was no way anyone would be fooled if they got close enough to him. She could certainly tell the difference between a Horde and an Alliance without having to see them. Heck, she could track them a hundred yards away threw dense brush if she were blind!

The effect, it seemed, was superficial. Or maybe it was just that she knew the feel of him and thus was not fooled?

"Follow me, pup. I'm a keldori ranger and you, my dear, are a wolfy in training. Try not to howl too much when we get there." He turned and began jogging down the deer trail, away from the catacombs.

Perplexed, the Druid followed. Her small paws were easily able to keep up with him. She had to admit, even though she was canine for the time being, that they moved with fluidity that she didn't expect. After a while, mouth hanging open and tongue lolling about, she began to understand why the Druids of the Pack had loved it enough to yield completely.

The Priest, for his part, had never jogged where the Druid could see him. All an elegant Priest did was glide about in his robes and tend to the wounded. Being free of the layers and layers of fabric and lacquered plates, he enjoyed the freedom of chain covered leather breeches by running them to their destination.

After several minutes, in which the little wolf-Druid enjoyed playing tag with the local wildlife, they looped up and down the dead hills and valleys around them. The pain of the land gradually subsided as they neared their destination. The grass had grown back a lush green and trees were flourishing in gold and whites. If this was any indication, the Druid though, of what this land used to look like then… it must have been beautiful…

With all her heart she wished it could be that beautiful again. She understood the barely repressed sorrow the Priest had spoken of before. This had been his home when all of it was alive and thriving? Now none of it was untainted except this one area. Finally the Druid understood what the Priest had been saying.

In the end, they wanted the same thing – for this land to be restored. Afterwards they could fight over who gets to live on it.

The Priest stopped suddenly, putting his hand out to stop the Druid. It was so very odd seeing him without his robes. Even though it wasn't him she was seeing, but a Night Elf like herself. Obediently she went to his side, pretending to be the pet-in-training as instructed.

That's when she saw it on the hill, standing proudly like a beacon of hope for this land. The rocks of the structure where white as snow, encircling the pool of brightly glowing water. Dragonflies danced across the surface, infused with magical energies. In front of the steps leading into the sacred waters stood the Torii gate. It marked the symbolic transition between the sacred and the profane. Once walking threw that gate, you were on holy ground.

'Oh, Elune…! You do love me.'

A moonwell.

The Druid gave a whoof of approval but stayed by the Priest's side, fiercely determination not to ruin whatever good-will project he was undertaking in her favor. Risking his upset with foolish overexcited behavior wasn't something she wanted to do. The situation was delicate.

The Priest was quiet for a moment, eyes glowing in the manor saying he was taking some kind of mental survey. When he did this it usually lead to killed or healed. Once finished, he knelt down next to her and moved took her chin into his warm palm.

"Understand me." His voice was deeper, though still cultured, "You have 15 min. No more and no less. I don't care what you find up on top of that hill; you will come back in 15 min or I will come get you. And we don't want that." There was warning in his voice, a truth of what would happen if she made him chase her.

She didn't understand until he had slipped his fingers under the collar and snapped it open. Backing up in a furry of fur, she shifted immediately into her Dishu form and ran out of range. Turning, she studied him. He stood, holding the collar reverently in one hand, her hearthstone in another.

Crap. So running up the hill out of eyesight and hearthing back to Auberdine wasn't going to work…

"Fifteen minutes." He reminded her, settling himself on the grass to wait, "Make it snappy."

All her options weighed down on her. Run? No, he would summon his mount and chase her. Fight? He'd kill her with a swift backhand; the energies in his gloves alone would do the job without him directing it. Call for help…? Yes, maybe she could call for help!

Turning, she scrambled up the hill towards the moonwell. As much as she wanted to dive into the sacred water and wash away the stench of the fel taint all over her, she needed to warn the Sentinels that surely must be guarding the well.

But upon arriving at the top of the hill, she discovered a shocking truth.


	9. The Moonwell

~* Author's Notes *~

Reluploaded: Dec 31, 11

Fixed: The worst grammar, spelling and consistency errors.

Warning: Somewhat graphic descriptions of dead and dying Night Elves toned down for the weak of stomach. I kept depictions of suffering and pain to a minimal on purpose.

In the actual world of Azeroth it would take several weeks (even months) to transverse the map and reach the moonwell's real location, so I moved it to the Night Elf settlement below Zul'aman.

~*~ Chapter 9 ~*~

The Druid now knew why the Priest had been apologizing for something he hadn't done wrong yet. Even from the camp he had been able to feel the lives of the Sentinels just a few miles away. Why he still brought her here was unknown. She didn't like being tested like this, if that is what he was doing.

Dead. Wounded. Panic. Pain. Disorder and chaos. How they had managed to get a Moonwell set up in this area, she had no idea. No doubt they moved in when the Blood Elves had been busy with something else. The resurgence of the Amani, perhaps? As it was now, wounded Kaldorei Sentinels, some no older than she, lay in grass sickened with their own blood and entrails. The ones that were not dead already were beyond saving. The few remaining alive, no doubt having been a last-resort backup call, were either singing death prayers or ending their falling comrades in a humane manor.

_Where are your healers?_

No paid her any attention as she slowly came into the encampment, probably assuming she was the cavalry come too late. Torn between crying out in agony over the heart-wrenching emotions all around and following the Priest's orders, she cursed the Horde over and over again. Fifteen minutes. He said fifteen…

Running towards the day-bright glow of the Moonwell, she leapt threw the torii gate and landed with a splash in the middle of the waters. Instantly an overwhelming wave of Elune's power swept threw her, clearing away all tainted energies and releasing her spirit to soar in the heavens. Her body soaked up the sacred waters.

Shifting into and out of each form, she cleared away every trace of tainted energy, even the traces in the dress she wore. Though being in the pool brought her great joy and deep spiritual cleansing, she knew her energies were needed elsewhere.

Stepping out of the pool, her unusual dress caught the attention of one of the dying. "Elune be praised!" the young Sentinel gasped, blood flooding from between her pale purple lips, the light in her eyes dying with her last breath. Without any of her enchanted gear or even her hearthstone the little Druid was next to powerless. These people were beyond her abilities even if she were in the best robes a healer of her years could wear.

_But I am not a healer anyways._

Soon a second saw her, and then a third, a vision in white stepping forth from the Moonwell. The Sentinels whispered words of praise to the Goddess, one tentatively reaching forward to touch her.

The little druid spoke softly, "I serve Cenarius and Elune as a Druid of the Wild. There is little I have to offer you here, but it is yours. Ask of me." Tears stung her glowing eyes as she spoke, her voice choking on the waves of emotions battering against her body. _These are my people, oh Elune… What were they doing here?_ Children no older than she sent to fight Scourge, Blood Elves, Trolls…. And so very far away from home! _Why!_

"A Druid…?" A Sentinel whispered.

"Yes."

"Elune be praised!" The Sentinel cried, then louder, "Elune be Praised!" Turning to the others, she grasped the Druid's wrist and pulled her forward. Bare feet found wet, squishy grass and she didn't look down to see whom she just walked threw. A second trip to the Moonwell would be needed before she left.

He said I have fifteen minutes…

Hauled form one side of the encampment to another, she was thrust inside a large purple command tent. There she found what had been missing outside: survivors.

The Sentinel approached a woman dressed as Captain and addressed her with excited urgency, "The Goddess watches over us; Elune has sent a Druid. She stepped strait out of the Moonwell!"

Perplexed again, the Druid wondered how that was relevant at all. The Moonwells waters could cure many wounds and malignancies, but only threw alchemical transformation. Abilities she did not posses.

The Captain, barely older than the Druid herself and already showing the signs of her command, quickly assessed the Druid head to food in one swift motion. "Get to work then. If Elune is kind enough to send you, I won't waste time putting you to use." Turning back to the man she attended, the Captain bent back to her whispered conversations.

Before the Druid could open her mouth to ask for directions the Sentinel had her by the wrist again and pulled her towards the far wall. There she saw the row of cots. Each one held a de-suited Sentinel doubled over in crippling pain, trying their best not to cry out and scream from their agonies.

"Goddess on High!" the Druid gasped, hands to her mouth in horror. The pain radiating from the bodies in front of her was almost too much. Dropping to her knees in front of the first cot, she said the quick prayers she knew. "What do they need? What has happened here?"

The Sentinel knelt beside her, one hand rested on her shuriken, "They have been poisoned, each of them by a professional assassin. We think… we think it's Queen's Poison." Her next words were spoken as if she were reliving the memory, breath catching, eyes dilating and chest heaving before she was done, "He hit our Priests first, took them all out before we knew what was happening. Then he knifed the archers from a distance, one after another, hiding in the trees and in the shadows. We couldn't find him!" She needed the Druid to believe it, needed someone to know she had tried. Large eyes were wet with fear and self-hatred. "We kept him away from the Captain though. He tried to get to her but we kept him away. No one can say we didn't protect our command…" The sorrow turned to bitterness was hard to miss.

Your life before your Commanders. All Kaldorie who went into battle had this drilled into their head. You may die in dignity if you precede your commanding officer past the mortal veil. You are shamed forever if they die before you do.

"Why are you even here, any of you?" The Druid asked. Nothing would be so bad as helping these people and then having them sent right back to face the same danger again. If that were the case, she would end them quietly and deliver their souls to the Moonwell. She was not a Priestess but that much she could do.

There was a long pause, long enough to cause the Druid to glance at the Sentinel. The other girl's dark purple face was blanched, her jaw tight. Glowing silver eyes were filled with anger and distrust. Long eyebrows twitched as she fought to remain calm. "Fendral Staghelm sent us to set up the Moonwell and begin purifying these lands." Clearly upset with the turn of events, the Sentinel refused to let her personal feelings about the missions cloud her relaying of the orders, "This land cries out so loud that Fendral can hear it all the way in Darnassus. He said there were only minor Scourge we would need to fight and that it would be the perfect place for … new recruits to gain some experience." Her eyes closed, a tear sliding down her cheek.

The Druid felt an instinctive need to defend the leader of her order, "I'm sure he didn't understand the extent of the danger-"

"I sure as fel hope so!" The Sentinel said darkly, jumping out of her kneeling position beside the Druid and wheeling out of the tent.

_Goddess keep you…_ The prayer floated in the wake of the other girl's anger, following her into the night. _Surely Fandral didn't know; how could he?_

Turning back to the bed, the Druid placed her hands on the injured girl's face. The poison was spreading upwards from a wound in her back, sending out black pulsing lines growing closer and closer to the heart. When they reached their destination, the heart would stop. Unfortunately poisons that were brewed and used to send messages often worked just the same, killing the victim slowly and allowing them to reach their commanders with the implied warning.

_Who would do such a think to children?_ Pain flowed into her hands, causing her to wince. Even if the feral arts were here chosen path healing was something every Druid knew well. Spells to heal the land, prayers to heal animals, small alchemical transitions of sacred materials to purge taint. Right now, the spell to draw out poison was needed.

The Druid found the wound on the Sentinels' back, touched her fingers to the traces of poison there, wound her Will threw the girl's wounds until ever trace of poison was infused… and _pulled_. Holding her breath against what she knew was going to be a hellishly long moment, she bit back tears when the poison was pulled from the girls body and into her own hands.

When the last of the poison had left the Sentinel's body, and the girl had collapsed, gasping in a sheen of sweat, the Druid placed her hands flat on the round and _pushed_ the poison out. Streaming black from the pores of her skin, it burned like liquid fire. It seeped into the ground, followed by drops of water form the Moonwell running down her bare arms, spreading relief.

Someone had paid good money to buy this stuff, or had been expertly able to mix it. Either way the Druid grinned threw the hurt, a feral sneer on her lips knowing that at least some of the assassin's efforts were going to be wasted.

Turning next to the girl on the other side of her, she repeated the procedure on down the row. Each time she exerted the effort her mental capacities to control her own Will and exercise it to her use grew weaker and weaker. Each time it was harder to pull the poison out of the wounds, each time harder to push them out of her own body.

Though the waters of the Moonwell soothed the pain, making her work that much easier, it could do nothing to stop the effects of that pain. By the time she came to the fourth person, her body was shaking with the effort, very little left in her to fight the poison that would spread inside her own body if she could not rid herself of it.

Were she a healer with enchantments, which keep her mind sharper for longer, all this would take no time at all. As it was, each procedure was taking longer than the last. By the fifth victim, the Sentinel had returned from outside and was helping her around, half supporting her weight. The muffled cries of the dying were enough to force her to move foreword to the next person despite the fatigue that set in at a frustratingly quick speed.

Her chosen art was not helping her help these people; the despair knowing she could not save them all shredded her heart. The watery tears leaked from her dimming eyes, dabbed away with the woolen fabric of her stained dress. Not unlike how she herself grew darker with hopelessness. The mud of the ground, blood on the grass, dirt and who-knows-what on the victims as she turned them to access wounds, all blended together in a kaleidoscope of colors which ruined the purity that had existed before.

Struggling to the tenth cot, and five more to go, the little Druid panted. Had she food in the last weeks… had she any of the enchanted gear that had been in her bag… had she cool drinks to wash away the mental fog… or even the stored energies in her hearthstone…

Outside there was a noise. Heads snapping up and studied the flap of the tent. They waited for whoever was causing a stir among those outside. The Commander went quickly to the door and threw the flap open – immediately her shuriken was in her hands – but upon realizing who it was lowered the tri-bladed weapon.

Another Sentinel walked threw the door, looked around, and walked strait up to the little Druid. Something was wrong about her and the Druid felt it immediately. Something was… not right.

The Sentinel spoke, "You must leave _now_." Emphasis on the last word was not ignored.

Standing slowly, she met the puzzled gaze of everyone in the tent with her own and followed the girl out. What was this all about? They said they wanted her help and now they were kicking her out? The Commander looked as confused as she did but said nothing to stop her.

The Moonwell, across the clearing from the tent and glowing warmly, brought a lump to her throat. The Sentinel pointed to it, expression blank. Perhaps she though the Druid really had come from the Moonwell to begin with and expected her to leave that way?

Energized with adrenalin, she crossed the clearing once more and sunk herself into the sacred waters. As soon as she came up for air, the strange-acting Sentinel barked, "And what part of fifteen minutes don't you understand?"

The Druid jerked upright, starring at the Sentinel, choking on her words. "You're mind controlled her?"

It didn't take long for others to understand the gist of the statement though: "Horde! Horde in An'Owyn! Gather the forces!" The free-willed Sentinels hollered, fleeing towards the command tent.

_Such a blabbermouth!_ The Druid though, leaping from the Moonwell.

She had forgotten about the Priest.

~ End Notes ~

If no one has figured it out / pieced it together; our heroin is doing a quest and getting a lot of experience from it. In my mind, the 'leveling up' in the Azeroth universe happens when people put together all the 'pieces/experience(es)' that eventually turn into a revelation. These revelations put you on a different 'level' than you were before. This is one of the Druids pieces that will eventually lead to her revelation.


	10. Mourning Qual'thalas

~*~ Original Author's Notes ~*~

I enjoyed writing another chapter where the Druid's personality gets to develop a bit. Not just through internal monologue but also through actions, which are always the best way to describe people IMHO. And not just hers but the priest as well shows a glimpse of his inner spark.

After spending an hour of my life on Wikipedia finding out just who Anastarion is I vow to spend a chapter detailing my newly discovered lore in order to justify time wasted

This is not that chapter.

~*Reuploaded on Aug 31, 2012*~

Corrected the worst of the obvious grammar mistakes (threw and through, as example), hacked apart some of the run on sentences, and clarified some details.

I have a chapter that's been sitting in my folder called "Latter, Yo!" that was written out of order, back at the beginning of the LK xpack. If I had been as diligently writing on this story as Blizz pumps out xpacks then Malorne as a travel form would have made it onto FFN in MY story before Blizz even had Deathwing on the chop block. Great minds think alike; just know that I though of it first!

~*~Chapter 9 ~*~

The mind controlled sentinel pointed in the direction of the priest. The Druid didn't have the mental recall to shift into her Dishu form and flee. She shouldn't have blurted out her understanding of the girl's affliction. No doubt the other kaldorie would catch on rather quickly and their actions would earn them nothing but another round of gathering the wounded and singing the dead back to Elune.

There was an urgent need to get back to the priest before they rest could mobilize. No doubt if they saw him they would attack: no doubt he could and would defend himself. It would be a slaughter; no contest and enough had died this day. Being young as she, and with little experience by which to take on a fully realized High Priest, they would all be killed. Why were they even hear? _They are no older than… well never mind those left behind in Auberdine._

It would be her fault as well, for blurting out her discover for all to hear!

Standing on shaking legs she made her way mutely past the surprised sentinels, giving the one the priest was controlling her best I-really-don't-like-you-right-now glare. At the door the commanding officer made a move toward her, to drag her back to the sickbeds or question her or offer a bed to rest; the Druid bolted. Blood splattered feet moved swiftly over the flat grounds of the camp, past those carrying in wounded and attempting to avoid what gore was avoidable. Whoever had done this work, if she ever found them, had their name on her longest fang. _Elune, grant these brave souls revenge for the hell they have been put threw this day, and the strength to make it back to a place where moonwell waters pool freely._

Long legs carried her sprinting down the hill. Muscles ached with the effort, from lack of use in her upright form and also from lack of energy. Behind her came both shouted commands and the instruments by which the sentinels were trained to attack by. The tunes of battle were winding up, tunes she was well familiar with by now.

A line of trees and tangled bushes hid the priest, eyes half lidded in concentration and glowing darkly of some sinister magic he rarely called upon. The distrust of the shadow energies gave the Druid pause to slow down lest she run right into him. From the top of the hill she heard cries as her fellow kaldorie turned against her kin to slow their advance.

Realizing what was happening, the little Druid struck out in anger. Unable to change into any of her feral forms, she opted to grab one of his wrists and break the flow of energy. Jerking it down, she pressed one of her palms against his chest and tried to push him back into the bushes. As much to hide him from her kind as to stop him from making them attack each other.

The break worked and he stumbled back a step, grabbing her wrist to drag her down into the dirt of the path. He was not happy. Neither was she. "Fifteen minutes is hard for you to measure? Should I add an alarm to this collar?" he hissed in the deep voice of a male of her race.

She turned her face away. He was Horde and she was Alliance. More to the point she was a child of the stars, of Cenarius and Elune, and he of blood and magic and who knows what the fel else. What he knew of her love for her people he seemed to care not. Who could rightfully be upset with her for trying to help?

Silence was his answer.

Snorting, he snapped the collar around her neck with one swift move. "I'm going to put a range on this so I don't have to take it off again. Next time I take control of a body, it won't be a female Nigh Elf in heat!" Before there was time to react, her form shifted into that of a wolf. Panting from such a hurried physical change, she lay down on the path by his feet, nose turned towards the sound of approaching sentinels.

_Please don't see through his disguise!_ She pleaded silently to whoever of her people's guardians were listening. _Please just think he's a ranger or scout with a tired wolf-pet_. Through her mind blew the extent of what he said, but the pondering on the words would come after the mental exhaustion had gone.

Breathing deeply, as he often did before casting a powerful spell, the priest's eyes went white behind the green as he slid into his casting stance. Though not the same as the ones the Priestesses of Elune use back in Auberdine, the Druid understood it by now. He was not evil in his actions and knew little of the shadow arts. What he did knew however, he knew well enough.

When they rounded the corner they paused to look for their quarry. Quickly his hand flashed out, streaks of dark energy uncoiling where he summoned it from the Nether. Snaking, the energy flooded quickly to its victims and hit them all. Too inexperienced to understand what was happening, each Sentinel became listless and confused.

The Druid didn't understand what was going on. His shadow spell wasn't hurting them, but their judgments seemed to be impaired. To her surprise, the priest moved forward into view, waved and called out to them. She followed, heeling by his side as a well-trained pet does. Someday she would remember her submission to this and recall what had been pounded into her head, quite unnecessarily, from day one of her Druid training: Druids are _not_ battle pets! Any would-be ranger or scout who tried to use them that way swiftly came to understand that Druids Do. NOT. Do. That.

_Not even for that one scout, pretty as he was at the time- before I mauled his face half off – who tried very hard. Even after he found out I was not just some oddly colored jungle cat… _Her mind was wondering, some of the shadow energy of the spell having hit her as well she assumed.

"That way." The priest pointed towards the path that leads down from Zul'aman. "A troll priest with big tusks and bright red hair. Might be one of the Amani."

_That's right… blaming another race! … Wait, when did he learn Darnassian? _To her surprise she ralized he had been speaking in her own language since first he shifted into the dark-skinned elf. She hoped it was the trinket or some magic he possessed. For a fact she knew her people would never willingly teach an enemy how to speak her language. _Unless you're just that old that you remember…_

The Sentinels, trying to shake off their stupor, advanced quickly towards the road, soon out of sight. When they were gone the priest took the stance again, recalling the Shadow energy back into his hands. The white faded from his eyes.

Instantly he took a knee beside her, mail tinkling as he moved, shaking her by the scruff, "You foolish little… child!"

Irritation burned in her gut; she bit at his hand, growling with raised hackles. _They're my _people!_ You don't care if they die but I do! One of _yours_ did this to them. One of _you!

He stood, letting go of of collar, "These lands don't belong to Darnassus; the Night Elves have no right to be here! You were to take a bath, not heal them!" The words coming from his mouth were so at odds with the form standing in front her. It was very wrong.

She growled. He had known there were injured enemies at the camp; he had scanned the place before letting her go in. Why sent her, a Druid who holds all life sacred, into a place like that and expect her not to do something? Did he really think that just because she followed the path of predator and prey that she was incapable of holding life in higher regard? Did he think her so cowed by he and his fel-damned companion that opportunities to complicate Horde schemes would not tempt her to action?

The priest was disgusted at himself. For a second he stopped to think of the consequences of what had taken place here, no doubt for his hide and not for hers she assumed; they headed back to camp. The little wolf followed, slowly staying as far away from him as the collar would allow. He was as lost in his musings as she was in hers.

In the way he moved through the paths and trails it seemed as if tainted plants and wildlife didn't surround him. Perhaps he chose not to see the scars of the present, but instead chose to walk through the blooms of the past. The very grasses, trees, and earth – it all cried out for healing but he acted as if he felt none of it.

Practice makes perfect.

Still angry from the attack on her people, and the priest reprimanding her for wasting those fifteen minutes helping them, the young Druid fought her rising sympathy. Yes, she could feel it. He loved this land once upon a time. Now it hurt him to move through its shadows. There was something of an empathetic gift in every Druid; they were sensitive to the emotions of every living being. Even an enemy.

Outside the camp he removed the trinket, turned back into a Blood Elf. If he though they would just slink back into camp and sit down as if they had never been gone he was wrong. The warlock waited, arms crossed, scowling something fierce. Upon seeing her, the little Druid cowered in the bushes. Upsetting the priest upset the warlock. Upsetting the warlock always ended with punishment.

The priest was unhappy to see her as well. "Why are you back so soon? Did you even get in?" He failed miserably at keeping the emotion out of his voice. Were he one to follow any of the Light-forsaking paths this world had to offer he may have been better at the art of deception.

As if he could hide anything from his warlock to begin with.

Though the priest and the warlock knew each other better than they knew themselves, they were both experts at avoiding the other's manipulation. Even if all others fell under their charms and/or influences, they alone possessed the ability to see strait into each other's souls. Or whatever this bit of Scourge-tainted thing had in place of a soul.

The Warlock hissed, the white skin of her face stretching to hold in her disapproval, "Where did you go? And why is the meatsack shaped like a wolf?"

_I'm not a meatsack, you hag! I have a name._ The Druid refused to come into the clearing, opting to stay in the bushes where the warlock couldn't ignite her with those glowing red eyes. The woman was madder than she had ever been in all their travels. There was something so… humanizing… about this tantrum.

The priest dropped to the ground in a fluid move, drug his bag up beside him. "I took her to the Moonwell for a bath." His pretence, acting as if the Scourge and kaldorie both invading his homeland didn't bother him, was weakly acted. Typical movements, such as stripping off silkened gloves to dig through the bag and tossing back strands of black hair, were too scripted.

"There are Alliance chits crawling all over this hilltop now, all of them crying foul! We're supposed to be here to aid in bringing down the Amani together, not stirring up trouble with the Darnassian Emissary!" Her voice, though almost shrieking in anger, was quiet lest she alert the settlements patrols that there was a problem.

The area outside the troll stronghold was dotted hundreds of campsites, but few camping spots had any privacy. The walrock had to show papers to get them one alone – though still not far enough away that arguing would go unnoticed. The papers, the Druid latter saw, had nothing more than bloody handprints on them. It had made the Druid shiver something fierce.

"Emissary?" The Priest scoffed, jerking both food and drink from their slots in his travel sack, long eyebrows twitching in anger, "Tyrande sent spies and Fanadral-"

"Don't even pretend you don't know Theron sent someone to take care of that!" He refused to answer her accusations. "Every army on this hill awaiting entry into Zul'aman was denied access because of you! You and your- your- PET – risking everything!"

"What bothers you more: Theron's displeasure that his whelp's time was wasted or the other's that her poisons were wasted?" Who Theron and 'the other' was were never elaborated on.

The warlock fumed, "I don't give a fig off my imps privates if you stirred up the Alliance and let your she-pup heal some stupid sentinels. I don't care about Theron and I'm not here for _her_ pleasure either. The tentative neutrality you broke between Horde and Alliance put a damper on _my_ fun for the evening! That's what I care about!"

The little Druid was lost, having no idea who these people were, what they were doing here or why they were cooperating all for the sake of killing trolls for the Blood Elves. _Alliance helping the sin'dorie? When did this start?! _ Still, the Druid wondered, there was something else behind the warlock's anger. Not just scolding her companion for putting himself in danger and ruining her fun. Something belied her reasons for wanting to face the Amani.

He still refused to answer and by not accepting her rebuke he refused to indicate he was in the wrong. Fuming, the warlock sputtered into silence, jerked her hood to cover her face and, if looks could kill, mentally set the priest aflame. For his part the priest slowly began eating his food and ignored his companion. Pretended to at least.

_What a roll reversal, _the Druid though. Normally it was the warlock who went in swinging and the priest dragging her screaming from the front lines. She was curious to understand why he wanted so badly to-

"Come!" The Priest sent a sharp command to the Druid, followed by a magical tug on the collar. Turning back to the warlock, he said, "You should have seen how she attacked me. Pushed me into the bushes and bit at my hands. All to save one more sentinel."

Mortified, the Druid refused to move. _And you call me a child? This is the second time tonight you've tried to blame someone else!_ The Warlock rarely cared if who she targeted were innocent or not; surely she wouldn't stop to hear the Druid's explanation – or care.

"Oh, don't you even!" The Warlock snapped, jumping to her bony feet. The fire flared, her voice echoing. The Druid cowered more, backing up enough to feel the shocks on her neck every few seconds. The warlock wasn't falling for the priest's diversionary ploy. "You said we could come here. You said it was ok. You said you'd stay in the camp and _not go wandering!"_ She paused before hissing in a voice that sounded like dry air escaping from a tomb, "You lied to me and now you're a sodden wreck!"

"Get over here." This time the command was slow and authoritive, his patience wearing thin. Turning, she was skewer with a look, though he couldn't see through the shrubs and saplings. To the warlock he said, "I fudged the truth, I didn't lie. You wanted to come here so badly, so I let you."

The man's moodiness was hard to miss, eyes dimming and brightening with the ebb and flow of hard emotions. The Druids theory about the land must have been spot on. Being here hurt him on a deep, profound level. Body language bespoke emotion she didn't think anyone of the Horde were capable of feeling. Let alone his kind of magic-tainted elf. Apparently he underestimated his ability to handle being here again.

Slowly, belly dragging the ground, she inched forward, ears back and tale tucked. The warlock watched every step she took with keen interest.

"I hate to be a wet blanket, Jet, but your plan isn't working. In fact, it's making things worse for you. You shouldn't have gone out there. You promised you wouldn't." Though her harsh voice was softening, the strength of the words remained.

Yes, they really did understand each other. And each trying to protect the others weaknesses was only making things worse. _These were his homelands_, the Druid though. _How can you expect him to stay away? Even people who look at the ground and just see dirt are capable of feeling that sort of loss_.

In the background the Dreadsteed took up its old pastime of chewing on the exposed bones of the Priests warhorse. Ziltip, the imp whose nighttime job it was to prevent this, shot fireballs at the demon horse, which then tried to pound the smaller demon into the dust.

They fought like this often enough to be old lovers.

The Priest was quietly staring into the fire, brow lowered in annoyance and handsome mouth set in a frown. _He's really pretty_, the Druid though, finally getting within reach. Her angle put him between herself and the warlock, not taking any chances with the other's temper. What plan the priest had which involved her was unknown, but in their weeks and weeks of travel he had yet to say two words to her that didn't involve orders to get in the bag and go find a shrub to water.

Reaching over casually, the priest stroked the collar again, turning her into her upright form, but not removing the resizable metal band from her throat. Anticipating her sudden move to return to the safety of dark bushes he held her firmly by a slim wrist till the struggles stop. Still wet from the Moonwell she succeeded only in creating a dirty mess on her otherwise pristine white dress.

Where the priest touched her, his hand glowed. The warlock cleared her throat loudly, still not having sat down, until her companion noticed the new light in the clearing. Slowly lifting his hand away from her small wrist tendrils of gold and green light flowed between his warm skin and her cool flesh.

Fascinated, she turned her palm over and brought it to the spot under his. Between his palm and hers, the gold and green swirled, ebbed and flowed. Something deep inside her sparkled, as if pulling at her heartstrings. It was like the land and Elune were trying to evoke something out of her that she never knew was there before. The priest's own Holy energies were the catalyst for something.

The Warlock scoffed, red eyes dimming to their usual sickly yellow bulbs, "And she's a _cat?_"


	11. Memory Lane

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

At some point last night I wondered about how the Blood Elves do their laundry… I'm looking forward to theorizing that into one of these chapters.

This is not that chapter.

~*~Chapter 10~*~

The little druid snatched her hand away, tucking it into her lap under her other palm. She blushed, wishing her hair were down so she could hide her face. "It's the Moonwell waters," she spoke softy, "I just wanted a bath." She avoided the woman's piercing stare.

The Priest said something in Thelassian, causing the Warlock to sit down sharply, bony arms crossed, "Next time just chuck her into a river if she wants a bath so bad!"

The Priest's glare was impressive, conveying the question of 'and what clean river is there to put her in?' but didn't phase the Warlock one bit. One got the feeling he didn't often get upset, but when he did only the Warlock's wrath could match it and prevent the self-destructive reaction. She kept him grounded. Sane.

It almost made sense. He was pure Holy energy, a fully realized healer. She was pure Fel energy, a capable and great destruction. They acted, as two sides of a coin, equal and balanced in the fight to save what they each cherished. For the Priest it was his homeland. The Warlock, the Druid supposed, lived for the chance to kill whoever opposed the Priest? But just what _exactly_ bound the two together, she still wanted to know.

"What is your name, little Druid?" The Priest asked quietly, turning to look at her. He was no longer angered with her, his temper sharpened against the Warlock of a wetstone and dulled at once by the same.

Her knees were drawn up against the cold of the night where she sat obediently beside him. Without looking at either of them she answered softly, "Kayas of Auberdine, Druid of the Wild. Defender of Ashenvale and the Darkshore, future hero of the Alliance." By rote as she had been taught. All Night Elf children who were pressed into service had it pounded into their head that, as the superior race, they would all be heroes some day. Otherwise they were failures in the eyes of their elders and outcast to guard remote villages where they wouldn't be able to embarrass their people.

Across the fire the sound of grinding teeth could be heard, "Future hero, aye? You don't know what kind of future you're invoking, child. Heroes aren't made from glory and honor. They're forged from losing everything they love, everything that keeps them playing it safe. If that's the future you want, you wont be short of employment."

The young Druid felt foolish, warmed slightly. A child preaching her hopes to immortals. Hopes that some day she would share in a tragedy so catastrophic that there is nothing left to live for? Yes, it was a foolish dream.

The Priest sighed heavily. His companion's words were meant to weight the Druid, though they weighted on him as well. "We all serve. Those who cant server yet look to the greatness of others as inspiration." To the Druid specifically he said, "One doesn't learn to be great by following an example, but by understanding why their example is great. Someday you will be needed to be what you were meant to be and if you are not that person then you will fail them all."

There were many messages in his speech. Some he said plainly, some he implied, and all the Druid could tell he had learned the hard way. Of these she though that perhaps he had been one who had fought his fate, thinking there would be not consequence for his refusal.

The fire cracked and the Priest continued to eat his spicy bread. It was the first time the Druid had seen him eat anything. He tore off tiny little bites and ate them with maddening slowness.

After a few moments of internal reflection, the Warlock said something in Gutterspeak, flipping back her hood. Spiky blonde hair shot out in every direction, looking like she had stuck her finger in one of her companions engineering experiments.

The Priests eyebrows shot up. Then he grinned lecherously, the lessons of the past forgotten for a moment, and said, "Well good luck to you then!"

If it were possible to look embarrassed, glowering and hopeful at the same time, Corrosa's expression was all three. What was left of her eyebrows angled upwards as she though something 'pleasant'. Then her expression fell again, "Yeah, yeah. I'll catch up some day."

Turning towards Kayas, the Priest, in a much better mood now, introduced himself formally, "My name is Jetadiah, a High Priest a Silvermoon," Though Kayas got the impression he was so much more than this simple distinction, "And my companion is Corrosa, -"

"She doesn't need to hear my life story, thank you!"

He paused for just a second to give her an amused look. In return the Warlock conjured up the image of someone sneaking up on him while he slept, but her not being there because she had to kill a Druid who knew too much.

He coughed, _hard_, and grinned for a moment. Then the shadows overtook him once more. Like memories coming out of the woods and surrounding him, pulling his spirit to the ground, draining him.

"And this is why we don't come back to this place!" The raw emotion in the Warlocks voice caused the Druid a start, "Because it tears you up so much to walk these roads again and see nothing of what you remember!"

Wide eyed, the Druid was puzzled a great deal. She cared? The Fel-damed curse of a Scourged woman, who stole the life from everything around her and twisted it into nightmares, _cared?_ Holy Dragon Aspect!

"Oh," the Priest said softly, "I see a great many memories as I walk these roads…" He spoke of haunting visions of children and the dead, of which only a High Priest would be able to see. If he tried, as he had on their way back to the camp, the world fell away and there around him again would be images of the past.

Corrosa's head dipped down, her hood falling back over her head. A moment latter she snapped out her solution to the Priests heartsick problem: "Were leaving first thing in the morning." And that was that.

"That's not-," The Priest protested, attempting to pull rank of some kind. Problem was, the Warlock gave about as much of a damn about his rank that he did of her threats to turn him over to the Alliance for the reward money. That is to say, AHAHAHA!

"First thing! In fact, pack everything up tonight and we'll get breakfast on the road back to Brill."

"But, Corrosa-" He pleaded, sounding too much like a child complaining to Mommy. It was very unbecoming of his dignified stature.

"Don't you 'but, Corrosa' me! Feed her before you turn her back into a kitty. She put out a great deal of energy doing that thing you're refusing to admit you let her do and she wont last till we get to Orgrimmar now."

'What he _let_ me do?' The Druid's mind spun. 'You didn't hear him fussing at me… He _shook_ me!'

Kayas and Jetadiah stared blankly at the Warlock. "I'm not feeding her anything till I get your assurances she won't turn into a loaf of bread." The mental image made both their lips twitch: a loaf of bread with cat ears and a tail.

"I took the enchant off the collar when you repaired it. It's not so fun watching her waste away as I though it would be." Under her breath she muttered, "Like I can't do better than that…"

Jetadiah and his companion locked eyes for a moment. Relief showed in the Priest's face, his features softened. Yes, the Warlock cared about him. He was a bastion of Holy energy, attuned to the suffering of those around him, no matter what faction they were. If the Druid suffered, then so did he. Though the Warlock hated the Alliance, especially the Night Elves it seemed, she didn't enjoy watching them suffer so much that it was worth watching her Priest suffer as well.

_Her_ Priest.

Breaking off a large hunk of the bread, the Priest handed it towards the Druid. Gingerly she reached out and touched it. Still warm from the enchanted bag their food was kept in. A moment latter he passed to her the drinking skin filled with a sweet juice of some exotic fruit she had never tasted. And slightly biting.

For the first time since she had been captured, she felt a stir of contentment. A warm fire before her, a warm smile from the Priest, whom she was grudgingly coming to think might just have been born on the wrong team, warm bread between her teeth and that juice burning threw her system making her head swim and her arms fill heavy.

She fell asleep by the fire after finishing the bread. This time, she didn't hear the Warlocks whooping laugher or the soft chuckle of the Priest.

"She's had wine before, right?" Jetadiah asked his companion

The Warlock took the skin as it was tossed to her, "Surely…"

"She downed that pretty fast though…" He poked at the sleeping Druid, noting that her dress really wasn't travel attire, however becoming it was. She was out like a light, curled up and seemed to blend in with the land itself. Where the drops of Moonwell water fell from her skin and soaked into the dirt tender green shoots were pushing threw the soil.

His amazement ended when the Warlock, having downed the rest of the flask, asked, "Remember the last time you got a girl drunk by the fire, Jet?"

The Priest blushed, head to foot, and put his own hood up to hide his face. Sparkling stars of mana danced around the clearing, chasing each other now that they weren't trapped in the hood.

Corrosa laughed, sounding like someone whose lungs weren't all there anymore, and pitched forward onto the ground. When she didn't get up, the Priest drew back his hood partway to look at her.

Fast asleep.

Jetadiah snorted, "I'm surrounded by lightweights!"


	12. Leaving Zul'aman

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

"On the road again! Pissed off, kicked out and on the road again!" ~ Diary of a Crazed Southern Woman

Also, crossover- ftw!

Lastly: Yes, in this story, the Alliance and Horde teamed together to work on defeating the Amani. This happened in the game though the player's weren't able to go into Zul'aman as one raid team. In the WoW universe I think they would have been able to as they did before.

~*~Chapter 11 ~*~

When Kayas awoke the next morning, she was a large blue cat again and lying on a lush bed of grass. There was a bowl of water and a freshly killed rabbit by her head. It wasn't green and oozing so she settled down to eating it with gusto, unsure if it would be a trend or her last meal for a long time.

The effects of whatever was in that cask was making her head swim; she vowed never to drink the stuff again.

The Warlock was cursing at her Dreadstead; bony hand clamped around one shoulder spike and the other attempting to fasten the saddle. The angry demon didn't want to be touched and fought its master with stubborn will.

"Why is he upset?" The Priest asked. He was meditating on the other side of the cinder pit, his undead mount already packed. In the early morning light he looked more at peace than the entire time they'd been here.

"No. Fel-damed. Souls. To. _Give_. It!" Each word was punctuated with either a tug on the horns or a jump out of the way of said horns. "And don't you blame it on my pony; it's your fault I couldn't get into Zul'aman. You and your _wolf_."

Jetadiah opened one eye, blazing in irritation, "You blame me for your soul bag being empty? Moi? No…"

Ignoring the Priest, who went back to meditating, the Warlock kicked at the demon's molten hoof and threw it off balance long enough to fasten the saddle. Next came the fun part of loading up the supplies.

Kayas ate and watched, then rolled in the fresh grass, highly amused by her captors. Everyone was in high spirits, ready to get back on the road, off this mountain and out of these wretched territories.

When the demon stead was loaded the Druid went into her bag obediently. She didn't put it past the Warlock to kill her in a heartbeat if she did anything to attract attention. Even if the act upset the Priest.

Spurring the molten monster onto the road Corrosa informed the guards she and her Priest were leaving.

"No Horde on or off this mountain. A Druid is missing and we suspect foul-" 

"Who gave the order?" The Warlock asked slowly, as if very bored. This voice is one the Druid only heard once before. She named it Heir of Evil. This man's life was about to flash before his eyes and he didn't even know it.

"King Anduin Wryn of Stormwind!" The Guard belted out, a frown in his voice.

"Does King Anduin Wryn of Stormwind control the Forsaken?"

The guard was confused, "No. But the Alliance is leading the-"

"My Priest and I are not part of your army. I left the raid last night." She kicked the Dreadstead into motion, but the Guard quickly jumped in the way. The narrow path leading down the mountain wasn't wide enough for them to go around.

"No one on or off the mountain-"

The Warlock grew cold. Threw the bag Kayas could feel the chill in the air that seemed to follow the Forsaken. It was a chill that came when they remembered why they detest the living.

"If I push you over the cliff," she asked, still bored, "will the fall kill you?"

Caught off balance the guard gulped loudly, "Y-yes."

"Then maybe you should worry more about gravity, who has already made up it's mind to end you, and less about me, who's still mulling it over." Pause, "Tell your _king_ Corrosa sends her _love_."

The man could be heard trembling, "Corrosa? You're the High Priest's- " His ragged breaths sounded as if they were about to stop altogether. His heart could be heard pounding in his voice. "So _he_ must be…-"

Icy winds blew, chilling the Druid even inside her protective bag. The Warlock's voice grew soft, dangerous. "He," she said slowly, so the guard couldn't mistake her words, "was never here. Am I clear?"

The man ran. Fleeing for his life, for help, for clean underwear. They trio moved on – quickly.

"You didn't tell them who we were?" Jetadiah asked, riding up beside his companion when the path grew wider. Corrosa had picked up the pace, wanting to put distance between them and the Alliance who would no doubt come after them.

"They called for any able-bodied casters," the Warlock said, "so I came. It's not my fault they didn't ask for names." Quietly she added, "I didn't actually make it to the sign-in board. Some little rogue whelp was filching everyone's stuff and causing a panic."

The Priest didn't ask any details, sure he would be unhappy to hear her answer.

Kayas wondered about their exit off the mountain. Why had the man been so afraid of Corrosa? If anyone else had threatened the guard, he'd have called for backup right then. Perhaps sending the message to the king was code? Threat? Warning?

It seemed to make sense to the Kayas, who had to work to remain on the demon's rump as it moved. Though the bag was strapped down good, she didn't much like being thrown around inside it. She felt silly that she didn't know more about them, especially considering her village was a prime spot for regular Horde raids. Perhaps someone who had more than sixteen years under their belt and had ever been outside Ashenvale and Darkshore would know.

These thoughts spun threw her head as they traveled. The din of the land, the suffering and pain of the fallen Night Elves and the fel taint of the wildlife was a dull throb inside her. The Warlock ordered the Priest to 'put his bleeding heart into a book' and stop whining about what he couldn't fix. The Priests own holy book was memorized so he opted for one on the Shadow arts from the Warlock's collection.

A few of hours latter, Zul'aman half a map length behind them, Corrosa slowed the pace. "One stop." The Warlock said, smacking Ziltip into the dirt for trying to pinch her food. "You don't have a stomach: no food for you!"

"Listen here, sistah! I gotta eat something!" His shrill voice made Kayas groan inside her bag. A moment latter the imp was right back on the stead's rump, resting against the Druid and complaining to himself. The Warlock threatened to banish him if he didn't shut up.

"Stop where?" Jetadiah asked. The book he was pretending to read muffled his voice some.

The Warlock perked up quickly when her idea wasn't shot down immediately. This voice was called Brilliant Idea; "To collect clams!"

The book thumped shut. "Clams?"

Even inside her bag, Kayas could tell this was going to be a bad thing. She didn't need to see the Warlock's face, evil hands wringing with excitement.

"Clams. From some murlocs. By the ocean. Near that island-"

"No." The book ruffled open again. "Stay away from the island."

The Warlock actually snorted; an impressive thing to do without working lungs, "Fine; I need soul shards. My demons are starving. I ran out frying that rogue when he touched my –"

Kayas only wished she had been able to see the look the Priest gave the Warlock that shut her up so quickly. Then she could gloat and the Warlock wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

Jetadiah's solution to her problem was shot down just as soon as it came out. They argued for a good ten minutes, making the druid wish she had ear muffs to drown out their bickering. How on earth these two stood each other she had no idea. They were just so different!

He relented on the topic, his voice going soft, but declined the drag the Druid along for the show. She would do her dirty work and then catch up to them at the Thalassian Pass.

The Warlock unbuttoned the sack and made the Druid get out. Kayas wanted to stop the Warlock from going threw with her plans, half out of distain for the Forsaken woman and half out of her natural love of life. If she raised one paw to his master the imp would kill her in a single shot.

"What are you going to do about her? Everyone will see."

Snapping his fingers, a motion Kayas associated with his noble upbringing, the Priest ordered her to his side. Slinking across the ground, grateful for space between herself and the fel-cursed Warlock, she propped herself on the Priests warhorse. Putting paw against the dead animal, bones showing threw in so many places was revolting on so many levels.

Stroking the collar, the Priest freed up access to her stealthing abilities. She was instructed to keep pace with his horse and informed that no one would be able to see her unless they were a lot stronger than she were.

The Warlock put her Dreadstead into a full gallop and headed off towards the worst of the taint. Kayas mewled after her, sliding down onto all fours.

The Priest's voice was sad as he walked the horse again, "Pray for them, little Kayas. I will."

Most of the monsters in this part were too weak to detect her. The ones that wernt were shackled and destroyed by the Priest. Simple flicks of his wrist had Scourge immobilized. A second flick and they crashed into bone and dust, smoking ever so slightly. Kayas didn't understand the words that gave power to his spells, but they were the strongest she had ever felt.

Where Kayas walked, little sprouts shot up. Upon noticing this, the Priest laughed. The joyful sound rang threw her, giving hope where sadness dwelled. If he could ride from end to end of this land shouting with joy it seemed enemies would flee from every nook and cranny.

His commend on the size difference between Tauren and Night Elf feet earned him an indignant snort and a growl in protest, "Growww!" she wailed softly. 'I am not a kitten! … and I've never seen a Tauren.'

Smiling, the Priest coughed into his fist, "Check a mirror next time your in a town. Your not a grown cat yet, Lil'bit."

Miffed, she settled down. Ok, so she had never seen herself in her feline form. Certainly she had noticed that as a Druid aged so did their forms. Being halfway threw her teen years would make her… a half-grown kitten? She mused as they walked, wondering just where the Thelausian Pass would take them.


	13. A Story of Broken Promices

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

The story seems a little slow to me (pacing is one thing I'm working on as a writer) so I'm cutting out as many unnecessary details as I can in order to speed things up. Some of you may have noticed that the details of the chapters following chapter 5 are not as rich as the ones before and that is because more characters are involved so this cuts out room for environmental details.

However, it is important to note that everything that happens in Ghostlands is the foundation for the rest of the story so it's also important that I not cut out too many details.

~*~Chapter 12 ~*~

The Thalassian Pass was impressive. An enormous raised gate marked the entrance into the Ghostlands completely blocking the road from one side to the other. The Blood Elf architecture was beautiful and stunning. Aw-inspiring towers rose out of the ground, jutted against the sky, and giving whoever had once stood guard in them an impressive view of the surrounding lands.

The creamy white, blood red and shimmering gold seemed too elegant and out of place in the gloom and decay that surrounded them. The gate itself looked easy enough to defend and didn't look as if it had taken siege damage. It was obvious, by the banners hanging from every tower and the gate itself that the Scourge had been here.

Jetadiah stood silently gazing threw the raised gate. Kayas sat by his horse, waiting for the Warlock to return. The Priest's sorrow was palpable and made her mewl at him in sympathy.

As if started, he shook himself out of his reverie and glanced down at her. "I know this isn't your history, but perhaps you would like to know what happen here?"

Kayas knodded, but ran ahead to explore the gate as he spoke. She'd be able to hear him clearly regardless of where she was in the ruins. First on her mind was figuring out how to get to the top of the guard tower. A thing about cats and the high ground.

The Priest's voice was clear and strong; following her threw the ruins as if by magic, "A long time ago these lands were called Qual'thalas, home of the High Elves. We fought the Amani for these lands from day one."

'Well if you hadn't blown up two-thirds of the world, land wouldn't be so scarce…' Kayas though. The doors on the outsides of both towers were locked. She sat pondering as the Priest went on. Somewhere in the back of her mind the realization that the Priest who was now a Blood Elf had once been a High Elf surfaced.

"We called on the Humans for aid and they came to our rescue. They wanted to power we had acquired form the Well of Eternity at the bidding of Queen Azshara."

Her throaty warble, as she pawed at the lock trying to fit a claw in to jangle the mechanism, spoke her disagreement with anyone wanting to dabble with magic. All the power anyone needed to survive and protect your home and family could be found in Elune's presence. Nothing else was needed.

The Priest chuckled, "I know what they've told you." He shook his head as if denying it, "The Highbourn were sacrificed learning those lessons and I suppose it had to be done."

'We didn't sacrifice anyone,' the Druid though, miffed at the door. She was now sitting on a short bed of grass, little vines creeping up to where she had been fiddling with the lock. 'Your kind were corrupt. And you paid for it!'

"In return they helped us beat back Zul'jin, and the Trolls who threatened us with extinction, we promised ever to remain loyal to the Royal House of Arathi. This was all before I was old enough to fight of course. I was never part of that alliance myself. My sister was, however."

Kayas stopped fiddling with the lock and walked around the tower to give the priest her attention. The vines had grown up and were covering the mechanism. She had never had much flare for learning to control and manipulate the natural world. That was a healer's work. Her flare was on the front line maintaining stability.

"Mow?" she said, 'You had a sister?'

"Yes," he said, eyes seeming to glance back and memories, "a long time ago I had a sister. She was a Ranger under Lady Sylvannas, not a very high-ranking one, but a good one. She was stationed in what is now the Plaguelands. You would have liked her…"

"Mrew?" 'How did she die?'

The Priest took a deep breath, "You see, this is the Inner Elfgate. The other one is at the other end of the pass, called the Outer Elfgate. The Outer gate was guarded by squads of Rangers. Each squad held a fragment of the key that could bring down the Inner gate's magical barrier."

Kayas' ears dropped. She knew what happen. If the Litch King wanted to get to Qual'thalas, he'd have to get the key.

"Dar'Khan Drathir, you've never heard of him I'm sure, betrayed us all. Arthas swept threw and killed everyone, including my sister. She died defending the Outer gate as part of the troop that held the second key fragment."

He was looking past Kayas, brows furrowed, as if seeing the scores of enemies marching up the pass threw the gates anew. His speech had taking on a rote tone, as if he were giving a speech honoring the memory of everyone who died in Qual'thalas as the Scourge army descended upon them.

"The only people who survived," he was saying, "were the ones who had time to flee before Arthas reached Silvermoon. That is to say, only one in ten made it out alive. Arthas even rounded up the children. Most of them at least…" His voice was bitter only for a moment before returning to the speech tone.

"When the Mages of the Inner gate saw him coming, they knew what was going to happen to them. They fit as many into the towers as they could get and sealed it from the inside*. The rest died fighting the Scourge. And with the Elfgates down, Qual'thalas was flung open to the Lich King's armies. My home burned."

The little Druid didn't know what to say. Nothing so nasty had ever happen to her. Though her race was the oldest in Azeroth, and had seen many, many wars, she herself had never been witness to any.

"You see, the noble House of Arathi abandoned us in our time of need. Not one soldier came to help us, though entire squads of Ranger went to aid the Human races as the Horde were sacking Stormwind. We gave the mortal races magic, and were almost wiped out when they left us to this fate. In the end we won though since they were wiped out completely. For what it's worth, we survived."

Judging by the land around them all that the Scourge managed not to take was the lives of those who fled at the first signs of danger or were already away when the attack broke the gate. She wanted to be open-minded but they were Horde after all. The Orcish clans had tried to destroy the world; not to mention what the Forsaken had accomplished on that front.

The Priest frowned, gazing past her still. Dismounting form his horse, he swiftly strode across the road to the guard tower nearest her. The hem of his light gray and blue robes whispered over the ground, barely stirring up dust. It must take centuries to learn to walk with such courtliness.

Turning, she followed the path of his gaze – and was surprised to see the branches of the little tree snaking out from the back of the guard tower. She beat the Priest there however and found the place she had been sitting and messing with the lock.

Kneeling down, the Priest touched the tender little branches of the small tree. Hurt and pain washed out of his body; he was the beautiful man who had found her in Auberdine that day whom she had rarely seen since. There was reverence in his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. "It's beautiful…" he whispered.

Kayas didn't know how she had made a tree out of thin air so she accepted the statement as a means of knowing he wasn't mad about it. The Priest glanced at her; she glanced back at him. Neither of them had a clue.

Placing one paw against the green bark, she followed the essence of the plant into the ground. It was seeking out a source of nourishment and water. These grounds were so tainted that without clean resources it wouldn't make it much longer.

"It'll die, wont it?" Jetadiah asked in a hushed voice. "The pollution of this place will infect it as well. If it manages to live at all, it will be twisted out of recognition."

She knodded.

His hands traveled threw the whispery green leaves; enjoy the sapling for a moment. "Just another broken promise." He snapped the tree in half, sending shadowy energy into the root and burning it to the very tip.

The Druid jumped back with a startled yelp. The Priest rose up, face emotionless, and went back to his horse to wait for Corrosa. She chased after him, smacking at the hem of his robes, ignoring the shocks threw the collar. 'Why? Why did you do that?'

When he was up on the horse once more he looked down on her in every way. There nothing of the beautiful soul she had seen a moment ago. This was the shell he hid behind to stop the world he lived in from getting to him. "Control yourself, Druid. This is not a place to leave any part of yourself; even in the guise of a tree." Such coldness in his voice.

She glared back, angry. She had created life in this Elune-forsaken land and he had snuffed it out in the blink of am eye! "Mrow!" Batting at the hem of his robe didn't get his attention; he ignored her to focus on the book he had borrowed from Corrosa.

'Stupid Shadow-magic using … Holy Priest!' She leapt, attempting to mount the back of his horse. The plan was to grab his hood, which was always laid down for some reason, and drag him off the thing. When paw touched bone, however, the horse bolted. Rider and cat went flying off the back end.

The Priest landed in a heap of "oomph" on top of her. The sound was drowned out by her screech as one of the lacquered wings landed on her tail – the sound that erupted out of her could have sent naga fleeing back to Nazjar.

'That's _it_,' She though, 'I've had enough!' Flexing at an angle that would have broken a person's back, she squirmed from under the Priest. Running a ways off, she turned in the blink of an eye and charged. 'Kill someone else's tree next time you feel like practicing your Shadow arts!'

She saw him glance up from dusting off the book, eyes widening for a second. Even though is lips didn't move the barrier came up, conjured from Holy energy with a though.

Pain.

If there had been an angle to twist and get away from the pain, she would have found it. The world went red, then gray – the Priest was reaching for her. She clawed at his hands, hissed and ran. The pain was coming from the collar. Only too late had she learned what direct attacks on him would cause. Of course he had programmed the thing to stop her if she attacked him –why hadn't she realized that before?

She hid behind the guard tower, lay down in the bed of grass and waited out the pain. Had she access to her hearthstone's stored magic there would have been healing spells to make it all better. But as it was, she sulked and hid from the Priest while gazing at the withered vines on the door and mourning.

It seemed like a long time before the footsteps were heard coming around the edge of the tower. The Druid had taken to investigating what had caused the tree to grow. The cause, it seemed, was a tree seed that had been where she had sat but covered in the dust of ages. The little husk lay between her paws now, inches from her nose.

The Priest came up behind her. He was quiet, gazing at her find. 'Mine!' she put a paw over it to hide it from his view.

"You're sulking."

'You killed my tree, fell on me, hurt my tail and then shocked me so bad I saw colors. So, yes.' Her tail lashed. When he moved closer to the seedpod, she picked it up in her mouth and moved out of range. He could find his own!

"It's a dorei tree. The High Elves bred them out of the trees native to the area around the Well of Eternity. Instead of gold and purple, they are gold and white."

'None of the trees here are gold and white. And what you mean is 'it was _going_ to be a dorei tree'- before you killed it.'

He took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to pacify her. It was very important to the Priest that everyone gets along. Something all healers strive for is the need not to heal at all, even if it meant mending hurt feelings and wounded egos.

He knelt down, looking odd doing so in his flowing ethereal robes, "Look, I understand that you don't understand. But can't you just trust me to know some things should not be left to exist in a tainted state?"

"You should listen to him, he knows what he's talking about." The Warlock nodded sagely from behind the Priest, astride her demon. The purple soul bag was full of screaming victims trapped in glowing crystal shards. At least they were mindless and not aware of what was happening to them.

Right?

The Priest's back stiffened. He hadn't heard her come up and this bothered him. She caught him off guard: never a good thing if you're a battle-hardened healer. It was a sign of weakness.

The Warlock surveyed the scene; the druid who was clearly holding something the Priest wanted, and the priest who had reduced himself to pleading to get her to hand it over. The guard tower with the dead vines, and the withered tree stump sticking out of the ground in front of the door.

"Did she grow a tree while I was gone?" She dismounted her horse and neatly dodged a hoof to the spine.

Jetadiah closed his eyes a moment, not wanting to answer her question, "Yes. It grew when she sat on the seed pod evidently."

"Why was she sitting there of all places?" The Dreadstead again tried to impale her and again was neatly dodged. Corrosa yawed at the furious being in mock boredom.

"She was trying to get inside the guard tower."

"… Let her in?" There was malevolence in her voice. As if she were looking forward to something nasty happening to the Druid. Some kind of booby trap?

Good thing the Priest was… good. "I think not. I want to know how she grew the tree."

"What kind of tree?" Kayas added Scholarly to her list of voices the Warlock possessed.

"A dorei tree." The Priest stood and turned towards her, speaking in Patience voice.

"What kind of dorei tree?"

"A paperbark dorie tree…?"

"Hmm." The Warlock mused a moment, eyes narrowing and brow furrowing. Ziltip filched two soul shards while she was distracted and ran off to have his first meal in days. "You better give one to the horse, damnyou!" she called after him, fist raised. The demon horse was chasing after the demon determined to get his share.

"I have just the thing!" the Warlock said. She turned toward the Druid, "How's about a trade?"

Kayas ears laid back, 'There's nothing a fel-tinged creature like you has that I want.' She wondered if the Warlock knew she was holding an empty seedpod. Wondered also if the Warlock cared what she was holding, only that the Priest wanted it.

With a dramatic flourish the Warlock drew something out of her robes. A small triangular vial made of shimmering crystal hung from a finely worked silver chain. The liquid inside glowed blue. The Warlock kept it well away from her exposed skin.

"I told you not to go to that island!" Jetadiah growled. He glanced at the soul shards in the Warlocks bag.

"Murlocs were all dead. Seems someone else wanted clamstoo."

Kayas looked closely at the vial and knew what it was. The essence of it drew her a few steps closer before she realized movement was happening. Normally the Druids heaped their praise upon Cenarius as the son Elune and the first Druid, but she herself was drawn to the Elune in her aspect _Keeper of Balance. _She held the sacred waters as close to her heart as the sentinels and Priestesses did.

Moonwell water.

* I read the gist of how the Elfgates fell on Wowiki and filled in the missing details with a bit of creative thinking.


	14. The Nature of a Druid

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

The last chapter was pretty much my promise to find an exuse to flex my knowledge of the lore. Time to kill + historical ruins. Couldn't help it

On the other hand: poor little Druids All turned into soul shards for an ounce of Moonwell water.

I'm still not satisfied with the exact **how** of the 'seed' scene up to and including the end of the chapter but I got the important details down on paper. It'll sit in the back of my mind till it works itself out and so then I can polish it up.

~*~ Chapter 13 ~*~

Corrosa was coaxing, "A trade then, yes?"

The Priest left, face emotionless once again: he was not a happy man.

Kayas spit the seedpod out. The Warlock could have the clothes off her back if she'd hand over that vial of water!

Corrosa frowned at the seedpod. What used to be a very pretty face scrunched up as if she had just paid a fortune for a deck of cards without aces. Several glances, from the pod back to the Druid and to the pod again, were met with the Druid waiting expectantly for the vial.

Flinging the vial at her, the Warlock ground her teeth and left to find her companion. Catching the precious gift in the air, the Druid laid it reverently on the grass. It felt like home; a slice of Auberdine in these blight-ridden wasteland.

Her solace was interrupted by the sound of arguing, loud and angry. Not in the Blood Elf language, but in the Highbourn language. Taking up the vial in her mouth once more, she crept around the edge of the guard towers. The scene waiting on the other side shocked her.

The Priest and Warlock were attacking each other!

The Priest, in all his upset, flung conjured up a Holy spell designed to bind the Warlock where she stood. The Warlock, in a move that shocked the Druid to her core, caught the Priests spells around her wrists. The golden chains of energy were at once tainted and transformed with her demonic powers. Then sent back to their maker.

The Warlock said something utterly nasty. Not that the Druid could understand, but it upset the Priest greatly. He caught her bolt of tainted energy, purified it even as he redirected it and sent it back. This time with OOMPH behind it. The energy hit the Warlock like a stampede, knocking her back. The blow didn't faze her nearly as much as the Priest's scathing reply.

He's not suppose to be angry, the Druid though. It's not in him to be so upset; it's not his nature. Whatever had started this conflict, she had no idea. But the Priest was out of his element. Upset as he was, screaming about frustration in some long-unused Elven tongue, there wasn't a fighter in him.

Each time the surge of energy was purified and re-tainted and sent back to the other there was an additional bit of energy. At first the strikes had been directed – and the head or the feet – but as the energy they created between them began to blur and become unwieldy they each gave up directing it and shot it instead in the general direction of the other.

Hair swirling in the wind, caught up in ribbons of dancing Shadow and Holy energy, the Priest twisted as the bolt came back at him. This time when he caught it, he kept it. Righteousness was so much more than whatever fueled the Warlocks anger.

This time when the bolt came back at her, powerfully searing with Holy energy, the Druid was sure the Warlock would be destroyed. There was nothing she could do to avoid it; dodge, redirect, dispel. Surely it was too powerful!

What happen shocked the Druid: the Warlock absorbed it.

Golden flames crackled over the Warlocks skin, shot to her toes and into her fingertips. For a brief instant she was lit up like a candle. For a brief instant the soul inside her showed threw. A woman with blonde hair and soft blue eyes stood for a second where the Warlock had.

The Priest gasped, staggered sideways – and jerked the energy back to him. For a second the young woman seemed to float towards him, going to him. Seeing this, he dropped to his knees, too weak to stand. He let the energy go.

"No you don't!" The Warlock hissed. The soul was sucked back inside her body. "And stay in there!"

Between them floated the ball of perfectly balanced Holy and Shadow energy. Fel-damnation and Light-blessed salvation.

The Druid stared, wondering what had happened to cause such stalwart allies to suddenly turn no each other like that. Never mind the soul trapped inside the Warlock, or the Priests reaction to seeing it, the floating sphere of swirling energy was more important right now.

How did they do this? How did they not destroy each other? How could pure and Holy energy NOT hurt someone who was Undead? How had her fel-taint not burn him alive?

But then she understood. It was the balance. _They balance each other perfectly_. Not just balance, but they _fed_ off each other! Not just Shadow and Holy, but Life and Death.

Inside the ball images flashed. At least that the Druid could see. She crept closer and closer till she was just feet away. Tendrils of the energy crept towards her swirling with a Holy- Shadow glow. One touched her softly. And she felt it, she felt _them: _she understood.

Lunging away from the energy, she rooted around the ground looking for another seed. Where there was one then there was more! Finding several in a small space, she scooped them all up in her mouth. The dust was disgusting but a necessary evil.

Rushing back to the ball of energy, she spat the seeds out to pass threw. Instead of passing threw the tendrils came out and snatched them up and pulled them inside. The Priest didn't notice, too busy being consoled by the Warlock in a hushed tone.

They finally noticed what was going on when the ball of light blinked out. The five seeds rained to the ground, pulsating slightly with the Shadow magic inside a glowing Holy energy field.

"Now, wait a minute!" The Warlock begins, cloak swinging as she came after the Druid. "I don't recall giving you permission-"

Kayas scooped up the seeds and darted away, running headlong into the woods. She understood! She knew what they had been missing! All this time and no one had figured it out. But she had. Oh, yes. She knew how to make it better again!

The Priest and the Warlock were hot on her heals; trying to keep up with her threw the thickets. They passed a myriad of mutated wildlife, which the Warlock dispatched with mere hot glances. Finally Kayas found what she was looking for.

They caught up with her as she knocked the first Scourge skeleton to the ground. It lunged forward, mouth open, trying to biter her. It got a mouth full of the seed instead. The reanimated elf was pathetically weak. It tried to bite her but wasn't strong enough to move the Druid's paw off its forehead. The arms clawed at her back, attempting to drag her into its bite and infect her. Admittedly it was strong, but she had certainly fought worse in her time.

The Pries spoke first, "What in the name of all that's sacred are you doing with my-"

"And mine!" The Warlock cut in.

It was happening. Just as she had though it would. All it needed was the right kind of balance!

Inside the head of the skeleton little tendrils of green were growing, coated in a glowing golden shield of Holy energy. Kayas jumped away. The wretched being tried to rise but its head was rooted to the ground. The tree grew ferociously fast. First consuming the head, which broke away as the stump expanded. Down the neck bones the vines twined, sending up shoots along the spine and rooting the rest of the thrashing being to the ground. Vines curled up around the bones and sucked the very essence out.

"What did you do!" Jetadiah was upset. Very upset. "I specifically _told_ you-"

The Warlock reach out and stroked the collar, freeing the Druid from her feline form. Immediately she became upright gain. The Druid spit the seeds into her palm. "The Horde are full of idiots!"

Both of them became rooted to the ground. They certainly didn't think she was going to call their entire factions intelligence into question. Jetadiah opened his mouth to speak but the Warlock snapped out of her surprised stupor.

"You _dare_ question _my_ intelligence? At least _I_ know what I'm good for! I have half a mind to plant one of those in _you_, you arrogant little whelp and watch it grow while you scream. Lets see how much you like being a tree."

"It won't. I'm not dead. It'll work on you though." There was more than a little heat in the Druids soft voice. However little she used either her voice or threats.

The Priest interrupted the Warlock's next action. He firmly took Kayas' shoulders in his hands and turned her square to face him, "What do you mean?"

"It's what the two of you did."

"Explain!" The barked order, from both of them, was harsh and made her jump and cower. Now she wished she had stayed in her feline form where she was most comfortable.

"Shadow," She pointed to the Warlock, "Holy. Light and Darkness." She pointed to the seeds in her palm. "Alive." She pointed to what used to be a Scourge skeleton and was now a beautiful sapling taller than all of them, "Dead."

The Priest blinked, face impassive then reverent. His stiff and anxious body melted, sinking into the blight-ridden ground. Softly he spoke, "The seeds feed off the taint of the skeletons and balance it. It converts and excess of Shadow energy into Holy energy." The Druid blushed when his eyes swept her up and down in a swift reappraisal.

"What's that mean?" Corrosa asked.

"The tree will grow untained as long as there is a taint to feed it. And when there isn't a taint to feed it will be when there is no more taint here _to_ feed it!"

Kayas gave a toothy grin, her canines indenting her lower lip slightly, "Yes."

Now the Warlock took her turn starting at the sapling. It was still growing. By the end of the day it would be a full sized tree, purifying its corner of the world.

The Priest held out his hand. "Give." He meant the seeds. 

Kayas frowned, popped them back into her mouth, dropped into her feline form and ran off to find another skeleton.

"I did not expect that." The Warlock said watching the Druid bound away.

Jetadiah scowled, "I killed the first tree she grew;" He started off after her, "she doesn't trust me now."

"Can I hurt her?" There was a little too much hope in the Warlock's voice for the joke she had made. It was a joke, right?

"No. Just don't let her plant them all! Lor'thamra will want one-"

"The Dark Lady will want one!"

Stopping a second they stared at each other, a battle of wills that lost them precious time keeping up with the Druid. In the end Corrosa won, only because her companion was more desperate that one should remain at all. Lor'thamar would understand that he hadn't been given a seed because of Corrosa… Everyone knew Corrosa got what she wanted.

They caught up with the Druid as she was about to plant the last seed. The Warlock turned the skeleton to ash before the first shoot bloomed. Jetadiah snatched up the seed.

"Mrow!" The druid pawed at his hands, throwing her body weight against him to try and knock him over. When all he did was turn his body away from her and cradle the seed she felt embarrassed. Now she knew why dogs got frustrated with people who knew how not to be jumped on.

"You know what this means, Jet."

Sighting, he resigned himself to fate: "Of course, Corrosa."

Turning to the Druid the Warlcok gave her as close to a happy smile as Kayas had ever seen her give. She began backing up, knowing whatever the Warlock was happy about would be her undoing, "You're going to Undercity, Meatsack. The Dark Lady will want to meet the whelp who found a way to save Qual'thalas from the Scourge!"


	15. The Undercity

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

I've come to realize I dont rush things. It's painful to read fiction where everything feels rushed. Conflict between natural enemies doesn't disappear in a day or two and I'm disgusted whenever I see this in any medium.

I'm testing a theory that I can 'allude' to knowledge gained/adventures had by our heroin as she spent two weeks in the Plaguelands and readers will take my word for it

~*~ Chapter 14 ~*~

She wasn't moving. Nothing they could do would get her to go in there – nothing! All four paws were braced against the flagstone, claws ripping up the ground and dead grass as they tried to drag her up the lane leading to the large open doors. Six hands on her collar, so many fingers underneath the edge that she choked with no room to breath: all pulling to get her up the path.

She wasn't budging.

Ziltip hopped away. "She aint moving. For a skinny little thing, she sure is strong!" They had gone back to not feeding her again. The Elune-forsaken amount of time they had spent in what they called the Plaguelands had sapped her strength once more. The plague there was even worse than the Ghostlands! Though she had tried to find a Scourge to slip the last seed into the imp was watching her closely 24 hours a day now.

An old Druid trick, rooting oneself to the ground so as to become immovable, was working wonders now that they had finally left the Plaguelands for a place called Tirisfall Glades. Two weeks spent in that place was enough to make anyone wish to be anywhere else.

"This is humiliating!" Corrosa spat, "Just shock her stupid and we can haul her in on Ol' Horney." Both of her bony hands were clamped around the collar, now finding a smidgen of room since the imp had let go and gave up. Behind her the Dreadstead laughed, scales clicking like chain mail as it shook.

Kayas vowed that she was not going in here. Come fel or high winds there was nothing on the face of this planet that she loathed more than the Scourge. The huge remains of Loarderon castle stood before her, its dilapidated ruins haunting reminders of the former power of this nation. Now most of its citizens had returned to reclaim Lorderon – as Forsaken.

In her mind there was no difference between Scourge and Forsaken. Some could explain why they killed everything, while most Scourge minions could not, but it didn't make the things less dead.

Jetadiah sat down sharply, "Well if the Queen doesn't mind her being unconscious, it wouldn't be difficult for me to put her to sleep."

Angry amber eyes glowered at him from inside her feline skull. 'Don't. You. DARE. You think I'm being difficult now; you wait till I get incentive to do this all day! I certainly having nothing better to do… it's not like your even feeding me.'

"She'll be more interested in the seed," The Priest coxed, "She wont even notice you." His smile quickly removed as he dodged the ten claws she threw at his face, letting go of the collar. She firmly shook her head from side to side trying to pull out of the Warlock's grasp. Physically she was stronger than the woman, who's power lay in her knowledge of the Dark Arts.

Suddenly she was being lifted off her feet. "Roookukt!" she squeeled. The flaming steed chose now to make the Warlock look foolish, had grabbed her collar in his fiery mouth and shook her loose of the earth. The Warlocks evil demon horse was stronger than her hold on the ground, easily able to break the connection.

She choked and gagged, the collar cutting into her jaw and throat. Quickly they traveled threw the arches of the enormous ruins and into a dilapidated courtyard. Sharp claws only tickled the giant horse; its scales were made of something harder than iron and thick as her eyeteeth.

There was a crowd now: Forsaken travelers who had witnessed the scene outside and called their friends to watch. One woman who the Druid supposed was a Tauren by her size and face was belly laughing and nudging a tiny blood elf woman in the ribs. The woman had her arms crossed and was scowling.

Kayas was losing consciousness; limp body hit the ground in a plop. The horse managed not to burn her with its breath but now stood looking as if he'd love nothing more than smashing her into the earth with molten hooves. Behind her the Warlock looked please, "Well that's one way to get it done!"

Her hasty escape attempt was cut off when the Warlock threw up a wall of fire in her path and left it there. People who had been filing in to see the show were locked outside – the Priest included. Cowering from the heat, she darted to hide behind what she only too late realized was a horse-drawn hearse. And it was occupied.

A rotting hand reached threw a hole in the floor and grabbed at her. Threw the crack she could see the dry white skin of what used to be an ugly old man. He moaned and garbled, attempting to break free of the little wooden box.

Kayas freaked out, mind kicking into high gear. She had never had to fight undead before. Not the kind the posed any real threat. Now they were all over the place and she _knew _they wanted to hurt her. She was living and they were dead and they wanted nothing more than to _fix_ that problem.

Leaping away she made to jump threw the fire blocking the doorway even if it killed her. Better than whatever these undead, rotten 'people' were going to do to her! Veering away at the last second, avoiding slamming into the Priest's shield and probably saving herself another bout of collar-induced pain. He had cast it on himself to step threw the flames unharmed. There was nothing that could penetrate it.

Jetadiah looked at Corrosa, who was pocketing bet money, and said, "Stay here; if she's going to do this the whole way to the Royal Chamber then it'll take all day. I'll take the seed to the Dark Lady."

Kayas was panting, twirled her body against the Priest's legs and looking up at him with huge wet eyes. 'You cant leave me here with these Scourged people! The moment you leave they're going to hurt me!' "Mrooowww… Mroooowwwwhhh…"

"Fel no!" Corrosa threw a whole hand full of Orgrimmar currencies on the ground in rather dramatic display; "I'm not babysitting your pet while you go make the grand presentation!" She marched up to the Blood Elf and crossed her arms. Even standing tall as she was able, it still didn't compare to an imposing High Priest dressed neck to deck in his finest and obviously in command of the duo.

He is in command, right?

Kayas twirled around the Warlock's legs now, enduring the sickening sensation of pressing her bony body against another bony body. This one with cold, hard necrofied flesh. The disgust was hidden very well she though, and hoped the Priest understood this meant she and the Warlock both agreed on something finally.

"See, even Meatsack agrees with me!"

Having expected their reaction, he drew his hands from sleeves, where they had been replaced Old-Wizard style, and held the glowing seed out to her. "Then by all means, carry it yourself." Corrosa's hand was halfway up to take it when she stopped, scowled and would have smashed anyone else's head clear off their shoulders.

"Scarlet Crusaders." Corrosa bargained, locking eyes with the taller man. There was a war of wills for a second; Corrosa won.

Hanging his head slightly he yielded, "Fine." She took off for the door- he grabbed her sleeve. "After!"

The Warlock fumed but sat down smartly on the top step leading out, arms crossed, hood up and ankles locked together. There was no way past her; she was sitting in her own wall of flame and completely immune to it.

The Priest glided away into the black depths of the ruins, taking all Kayas' hope with him. She raced after him but the Warlock set up another wall of fire that prevented her passing into the depths of the Undercity. Calling after him had no affect except to hear him say, "You'll be fine. I'll be back soon," in a dismissive fashion as he continued walking

More than anything she wished he wasn't leaving her alone with the Warlock. Not just one Warlock, but several that surrounded her and others she didn't recognized. So many rotting faces, torn limbs, exposed bones, missing bones – one man didn't even have a jaw for Elune's sake!

The little Druid looked around for some kind of high ground, tail firmly tucked around one leg in fear and belly hugging the ground. But each time she found a new place to try and gain altitude the Warlock sent up more walls of flames. Kayas was sure she was doing it out of spite and boredom. If the woman wasn't sitting in the infernal wall of fire the Druid might have entertained the idea of diving threw it again.

The Forsaken were all gossiping in Gutterspeak or Orcish and she couldn't understand a word. Her hearthstone had to be tuned to a language before she could understand it; the Priest and the Warlock were quite fluent in Common. Not surprising since the Priest was a fallen High Elf it seems, and kept the wretched creature for company.

Spotting an open door, she made a mad dash for it. Up the steps, around a corner – someone grabbed her tail and hauled her backward clean off the staircase.

Pain.

Tearing ligaments.

Claws made white lines in the stones, her spine dislocating in the process.

She never screamed so loud in her life.

The next instant, before she could see her attacker and before her shrieks had done echoing off the walls, she was wound like a toy on the end of a string and _slammed_ into the ground. Everything went numb. The world went white, red and then gray. Ringing. Blackness. Cant breath. Stomach splitting.

Pain: so much pain.

Corrosa's voice was the first recognition she gained, then the feeling. There were broken bones and tears and organs that bled. It hurt to move, to try to crawl away; prayer for swift death were all she could muster. Her whiskers quivered as her feline mouth shrieked again and again.

But she was being half picked up by the scruff of her neck, clawed nails digging into her flesh, bone and sinew, and drug across fresh graves and pitted flagstones.

"You have some _nerve_," A harsh voice cut into her world of tears and air-less gasping, "to come here, where your kind are _not wanted_." Her heart, which had stopped beating for a moment, took up the terrified rhythm once more. Body shook.

She cried. So much pain. So much agony. Never had anyone felt this kind of pain. Tail broken in several places, three ribs on the side that hit the ground and jaw as well her spine. Hipbones were shattered, one leg joint pushed into her pelvis. There was blood dribbling from her mouth. Her eyes rolled back, one lung filling with liquid and unable to work; the other paralyzed.

Corrosa was speaking again, hastily in that trashy tongue of hers. Kayas didn't realize this was a new voice: Panic. The stranger who had the Druid by the scruff silenced the Warlock without words. The Forsaken woman knelt down obediently and stayed there.

Gaining a little of consciousness, Kayas realized that this damage was very bad but that it would be hours before she died from it. The drawbacks of being a former-immortal race were how resilient elfin bodies were. Especially the Druid, who wove spells into themselves to make their skin thick as irontree bark and fight death. Her heart picked up the pace, panic and adrenalin causing the pain to worsen.

Moments latter she was hanging over a river of green glowing liquid. "The Royal Apothecary Society undertake a great many experiments; these are the 'failures'. I use the term loosely of course. I'm always interested to see the endless variations of things that stumble out after they…stumble… in."

She was falling, weightless, only too late to realize what this meant. There was no way to stop her decent into the muck. No way to prevent the inevitable plunge into the mire. 'Elune help me! Cenarius!' she screamed into the heavens, her unusable voice wailing out as a hiss. The angle of decent turned her a fraction of an inch before she broke the surface of the river of failed Plague experiments.

Elfin. Swords. Hood. Black lips. Red eyes.

Lady Sylvannas Windrunner.


	16. The Forsaken Queen

~*~ Author's Notes

I found a use for Lol-y Nova :D

I don't remember all of the abilities Sylvannas uses but I do have a clip of her 'blinking' just like a mage. This was before they changed her character model to it's current one and she was still Sylvannas the Dress-Wearing Undead Night Elf.

~*~Chapter 14 ~*~

There was a hand under her collar pulling towards the surface. Though it didn't matter if she was under or below- her lungs were full of fluids of every kind. An arm looped around her middle and pulled her upwards, resting her over a shoulder. She shrieked, blood and mucus leaking from her throat and nose. There was a great heave and she was lifted upwards on the shoulder and out of the mire.

Gently she was laid on the ground. Where broken and skin touched the stones pain shot with crippling speed in every direction. It had actually gone away for a minute, back there in the river of luminous green. The swiftness of its return made her move to slide back down the hill and melt away.

'Please,' she begged her savior, 'just let me die! Don't let me become one of them..' Gargled non-mewls were the only sound coming from her feline throat. Fluids moved in both directions as she tried to breath and retch at the same time.

There were voices yelling. The Priest was livid. His hands stroked the length of her body trying to burn the abandoned Plague experiments from her skin. Where they passed agony followed. She screamed, twisted against the agony and bit his hand. Hard.

It was a mistake. Where his Holy-infused blood met the Plague in her mouth it burned, cauterizing her gums and blackening her teeth. Jerking away, she made to stand and run but only two of her legs worked and one entire side of her body was broken into pieces. All it accomplished was seizure-like flailing.

More yelling. More screaming: hers or his she didn't know. There was a shield now around the both of them and shrieking as the Priest stood and cast punishing torrents of Holy energy in every direction. The Forsaken were trapped, screaming in pain as their Undead flesh was seared and burned. The walls of fire prevented them from fleeing lest they be reduced to ashes that much sooner.

Jetadiah's robes flared, caught up in a righteous wind. The power he wielded lifted him from the ground, flowing gold energy illuminating him like an avenging angel. Burning eyes touched red in anger. He was echoing words of power, punishing everyone within striking distance. Kayas understood the last part of it though; "You _watched_? You laughed? You find this _entertaining_?." Another surge of power: more shrieking. "How could any of you find this entertaining?" Sorrow touched his voice, shooting his lament into every being his words reached.

It took Kayas several moments to see all of this. First she saw the Forsaken cringing, running then being smashed into the ground repeatedly by the rivers of golden sorrow that poured out of the Priest. One or two even risked the flames but bounded off like a solid wall, lit up like trees non-the-less. Corrosa wasn't moving: her body jumped and it burned her as it did the rest, yet she endured it from her position on the ground, head bowed.

For her part the Dark Lady had teleported to the high ground, ducking around a corner with each wave of burning energy that passed. "You will stop this at once, Jetadiah! What is the meaning?"

The Priest wheeled around to face her, mace in one hand brilliantly lighting up the entire courtyard, "Back to experimenting on innocent children I see." The Banshee Queen's face grew dark with anger. The Priest silenced her reply with a quietly whispered; "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree now, does it?"

Shooting something black and streaking at the Priest the Dark Lady popped his shield and grounded his powers. He floated to the ground, unable to continue the assault on the by-standers. He was dizzy for a second, but quickly recovered.

The Dark Lady teleported in front of him as he took the Druid into his arms, stroked her collar and turned her back into her upright form.

She gasped, trying to struggle away from him, Plague burning threw her system, killing tissue and twisting it out of order. There was so much agony she shook from it. Open wounds scraped the ground, blood flowing down her shoulders from the wounds on her neck, spit out of her burning mouth. Her right arm was broken, right leg shattered in too many places. All she could make was a high-pitched 'hiiiii' sound as she gasped for breath and softly shrieked in wave after wave of torture.

Curling up on the ground, shiver and cry, she whispered her final prayers and hoped someone was listening. Her body worked to fight the toxins, attempting to throw them up. Bile and blood and plague leaked from her mouth and into the cracks of the flagstones.

Jetadiah's searing hot hands were on her again, burning with Holy energy once more. Despite her struggles he swept them up and down as many parts of her body as he could touch. Fighting him only made the problems worse when she could hear him whispering, "Please, stop fighting me…" Desperation.

He was crying, blood running down the front of his robes, mentally exhausted and covered in the mote's filthy 'water'. He had been the one to dive in and draw her out. Whatever the Dark Lady had done to him had just about stripped all his powers. And yet he worked, struggling to hold her still as she fought to get away from him.

'Get off me! Your evil, just like them.' Tears of grief mixed with tears of pain. She had started to trust him. Had started to like him. Had started to see something kindred in him. But how could she? There was nothing in him of her kind; he was Horde and they were all evil. All of them. Especially the ones, and she didn't pull this card often because of her races newly mortal status, which would stand by and watch someone hurt a child.

He pulled her too him, forcing her head into the hollow of his neck, whispered something sweet. Blackness descended rather quickly. Before she knew he was forcing her into the dream world she was already there.

"What is the meaning of this, Priest?" The Dark Lady asked again, patience growing thin. "I have no time for games."

Jetadiah shot an angry look at her, "How many times must I tell you to keep your hands off what is mine?"

The elfin woman blinked, cocked her head, "And how was I to know she's yours?"

"Corrosa sees just find without eyes; I assume you can too." He fingered the collar on the Druid's neck, rolling her head away so it was clear. "You had to have touched it when you did this." He pointed to the deep, freely bleeding gouge marks on the back of her neck where the Dark Lady's sharpened nails had shredded the flesh.

The Banshee Queen shrugged, "They're making more every day. Just get another one*." She turned to go back into her city.

Jetadiah stood with the little Druid in his arms. Many kinds of fluids dripped from them both, "Some people aren't replaceable. Some are."

The Dark Lady stopped, "And what does that mean, Priest?"

"Corrosa," he said to the Warlock still kneeling on the ground, "Where leaving."

The Warlock stood like a puppet, silently headed to the door. Her face was impassive, devoid. She had just weathered one hell of a storm and was two seconds from having a mental breakdown.

"Priest!" The Banshee Queen spoke in the Highbourn language, "Explain yourself." Few in the courtyard or beyond the wall of fire knew it.

Turning slightly to look into her red eyes he said, "You know where my loyalties lay, Sylvannas. Keep seeking to destroy what is mine and I will run out of reasons to be your friend."

The Forsaken Queen commanded Corrosa to stop. The Warlock stopped. The Dark Lady told her to go into the city and find the necromancers who would look after her wounds. Corrosa obeyed, changing direction to walk threw her own walls of fire as if it wasn't there. Hollow. Emotionless. Puppet.

"She's leaving with me." The Priest growled.

"You may have one or the other, but not both."

The Priests eyes widened in fury, "How _dare_ you-!"

"Is this not my city? May I not decide who comes and goes? Is there any confusion that members of the Alliance are _not welcome_?" The Priest was dismayed, too much so to answer promptly. "You knew better than to bring that _thing_ in here."

"Corrosa-"

"She'll always belong to me, Jetadiah. Always. Which means you will always be my friend – no matter what _we_ did to some half-breed runts _lifetimes_ ago."

Truth flickered threw the Priests eyes, his ears twitched. Yes, she had him in eternal check-mate. "Careful, my dear, your starting to sound like him."

The Banshee Queen grew cold, remembering what she despised about the living, "Careful, _Jet_, you cross a line."

"Were leaving, Corrosa." The Warlock moved obediently towards the door once more. A battle of wills was undertaken between the Dark Lady and the High Priest as the Warlock passed threw her fire and out of the door.

"Very well, Priest. I yield to you in the name of friendship and good faith. But you will bring her back to me in the morning or I will find your pet here and she will _suffer_."

The Priest turned and left the same time the Forsaken Queen turned back to her city. He didn't like confrontation; no healer did. He stood in the back and looked good in his robes while Corrosa was the wall between him and… the world. She had the silver tongue, or fiery as need be. He had never been good at being _her_ wall. _Never_.

The Banshee Queen lifted a hand towards the moons, studying the glowing vial she had taken from the Druid's neck. It had been so long since she was in possession of Moonwell water. Corrosa had managed to get a sample after all. Time and again that one was proved herself invaluable. She would just have to explain to her Queen why she had written saying she was unable to get any; it would be a good explanation, of course.

"Jet, I'm so sorry!" Corrosa was wailing over and over again, "I tried to stop her, I did!" Halfway back to the camp the Forsaken woman had snapped out of the mental control the Dark Lady was able to cast over any free-willed undead.

The Priest was rummaging threw all of their belongings back where they had parked the horses outside of Brill. Plaguehounds stood in the distance, ready to make off with any shiny objects that flew to close to them. The Scourge loves their shinnies.

"I know." Jetadiah was exacerbated. He dug and dug. Four candles. Five. Seven. Where the heck were the rest? "What self-respecting Priest doesn't keep a good supply of sacred candles?" Tears were still sliding down his scrunched up face, ears wilted almost in half.

Corrosa swallowed hard. "M-my bag?" It hurt her to see him like this; shaking so hard stuff rattled out of his hands or was crushed. "I'm so sorry. Sh-she just looked at me and everything went soft." There were little yellow tears seeping from Corrosa's one working tear duct, "I tried to fight her, I did, I'msosorry!"

The Priest didn't answer. He flung his own stuff aside and dumped her bag upside down. All kinds of weird things came tumbling out. Normally he didn't invade the Warlocks privacy too much but he needed those candles _now_.

There they were! A whole box of them. "Corrosa-"

"Y-you always forget so I keep extras, you see...?" Her voice was soft, eager to please.

Taking up each candle he quickly inscribed the right glyphs, touched each with his wand and echoed the sacred words. The flying sparks missed the candles completely.

"You are hopeless with that thing!" There was too much energy behind the exclamation, the Priest jumped and almost dropped the candles. "Why not just use that retractable shtick you made?" See, I can be helpful?

Tucking his wand back up his sleeve the drove to his bag and pulled out his first engineering experiment: a retractable wand**. Even as a child he had been hopelessly inept at channeling energy threw such a small structure as a twig or a chicken foot or some such other tool. He had always been better at just putting on a crystal bracelet and channeling the energy down his arm instead.

Snapping the wand out to full length, the end glowed a dim green to show the batteries would soon need replacing. The wand was easy to use: a drop of blood in one end and it would pull whatever the first kind of energy to touch that drop down threw the wand and direct it out the other end. No need to direct.

"Set these up." He tossed the box of candles to her when they were all inscribed and charged.

"You're trying t-to do that ritual again? Arn't you?" The wince in her voice stopped him a moment.

"Yes."

"It – um- didn't go over so well last time…?"

He flung the metal wand at the ground, where it stuck with a _twang_, and fumed, "She's _dying_ and it's my fault. I drug her into that place; she obviously didn't want to go on her own. I don't know, some Druidic premonition that Sylvannas was going to smash every bone in her body and grind her organs into mush with one fel swoop?" He looked at the unbreathing body of the Night Elf he had kidnapped from Auberdine, swearing he would let no harm come to while she were under his 'ownership', and shed new tears at the blood and gore.

He was screaming now, "Oh and I know: lets play Arthas and drop her into a river of Plague and see what stumbles out! Brilliant idea, _Your Majesty_, I cant imagine why the Alliance didn't fling open the gates of Stormwind and welcome someone who does _that_ to _children_ into their city!" Running fingers threw his lose hair, he kept gulping on deep breaths and trying to think. "I don't know what else to do…" Few had seen the Priest in a state of panic. None of them were currently alive***.

"You're bleeding heart is showing." Jetadiah glared. The Warlock offered softly, "I think I know what went – um- wrong… last time." Swallow. "But it's… wont work for someone who is already Forsaken."

Eyes wide, the Priest fixed his stare on her. So many thoughts went threw his mind, even more emotions threw his gut. "If there is anything, tell me."

Together they set up the circle. Candles were placed, runes drawn, powers invoked. Together they performed the ritual that had only been used once before and without success.

The only reason Sylvannas had pledged to support their bid for membership into the Horde is because she things her former race can figure out how to end the undead plague. She would be livid if she knew Jetadiah was only working on it to cure Corrosa and had no plans to hand such a powerful tool over to a woman who was already dead, but too vengeful to find a grave and stay in it.

* This theory also applies to ex's.

** Requires Gnomish Engineering 400 and Wand equipped in ranged weapon slot. Also works as bug zapper and can tune you into the ERP whisper chat in Goldshire (TV remote function).

*** Corrosa is not 'alive', per say, though thanks to Jet's failed attempt to undo her 'condition' she now sports a beating heart (though it has yet to serve a purpose), a soul, tastebuds and finds herself only orphaning children who are old enough to memorize her face so that some day they might come back to seek revenge.


	17. What Used to Be

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

Epic long chapter. Six pages in wordpad document (most are three or four), and then some extra lines. I didn't want to break it up because it all needs to be read at once to have the full emotional impact (that I hope it has) and I only upload a chapter every week or so (if that).

"Goodbye to you,

Goodbye to everything I though I knew;

You were the one I loved;

The one thing that I tried to hold onto

"_Goodbye to You"_, Michelle Branch

~*~ Chapter 16 ~*~

Kayas dreamed.

There was a spire. A tall needle like building that rose hundreds of yards into the sky against a backdrop of thick white clouds and a clear blue. It was flanked with two smaller spires. Architecture in beautiful reds and golds was topped with an onion shaped dome. Crowning the monuments were huge flacon wing with a green crystal floating between them.

Around the outside of the tower wound ramps and stairways. Some covered, mostly not. A long, elegant lane passed threw a white torii gate topped with matching golden wings.

Along the lane, children played in the lush fields of green grass, chasing each other or chasing the wind. A pair of white ponies, thick horns protruding form the middle of their foreheads, walked side-by-side up the lane. Two High Elf girls were deep in gossip, nodding quickly and firing back gasps at appropriate moments. Both had long platinum blonde hair characteristic of the High Elf race and shining blue eyes. One's hair was pulled back into a thick braid while the other's hair was curled and left hanging.

They giggled, hands over their mouths, as they passed a man on a bench of scrolling ironwork. He was a Night Elf with light blue skin and clean-shaven face. He smiled to notice them notice him and went back to peeling his fruit.

Behind the spire the ocean rolled against the rocks, bringing waves crashing around the base of the cliff side. The two girls continued up the path. Along the edge of the cliff were the beginnings of a prominent and flourishing village. Huge white and gold trees towered over everything, shading the scores of children who played beneath. What looked to be silver fish-like creatures twirled around the children, avoiding the immaculately clean hands that snatched at them. In the distance clusters of parents watched, occasionally going over to dust off and clean up any child who got a spot of dirt on them.

This place was beautiful.

The girls spurred their horses up the lane, racing to their destination. As they arrived at the ornate wooden doors of the spire, another girl raced up to join them. She had the same white-blonde hair, hanging strait and lose with no curls and blue eyes. All three were dressed in flowing skirts of red, blue and white with tight fitting bodices laced down to points in the front and back and elaborately embroidered with gold and silver.

Though they spoke in the High Elf tongue, Kayas understood them perfectly.

The one with strait hair was smiling from ear to pointed ear, "I can't wait for you to hear the new song I've been learning, it's just beautiful!" She handed up a harp-shaped bag to one of the other High Elves and then was helped up on the horse. All three were giggling as they rode off over the hills.

"Wait till you see this spot I found, it's by the ocean!" The one on the single-person horse said, braid swinging in the breeze.

"It's not more pretty than that spot Sill found last week, now is it?" The one with curls asked. "The lynx there spoiled our picnic!"

"I took care of them for you, didn't I?" Braid laughed behind her hand. The better to keep bugs out of your mouth, my dear.

"I don't have your flare for animals I suppose."

Sill said, a proud gaze on Braid, "No one has her flair for animals. She's going to be Ranger General someday, you watch!"

The two on one horse laughed as the single rider blushed. "As if papa would allow it! 'Music and theater for you!' he says. Besides, I'm not the genius in the family, Sill."

"Well I'm am the smartest-" she neatly dodged and elbow in the ribs, "but you two are close contenders. The three of us will rule these lands some day. It's in our blood!"

"Anu'balore delena!" All three shouted, rounding a corner when Sill pointed.

More directions were pointed out till they came to a shady cove on the stretch of beach. The sand shimmered golden in the sunlight, water glittering like glass. Small sand crabs skittered back and forth. Braid and Sill took to using one as a hockey puck and kicked it between them as Curls unloaded the picnic.

All three girls sat down to a picnic, two of them huffing from their efforts to keep the crab from coming out of its shell by keeping it moving.

Curls was unloading the basket, "Look what I snuck out of the cellar." Slowly, dramatically she pulled a wine bottle from the basket. All three girls squealed. As younglings of the race they were denied spirits until they had learned the arcane arts as best they could. Otherwise it could make their magical addictions worse before they learned to control it fully.

The bottle was uncorked and passed around, each girl gagging at the taste. "This stuff is disgusting!" Braid said, handing the bottle back to Curls.

Sill nodded, "Downright nasty! I don't understand the appeal at all."

"Maybe," Curls said, "we're suppose to 'let it breath'. I hear ma'ma talking about it all the time. 'Let it breath for another few min' she says. You remember? While entertaining someone important."

Sill nodded agreement with Braid.

"Look what _I_ foisted!" Braid clapped, drawing the other two's attention to her. She sat up taller, enjoying the show.

Kayas got the feeling these girls were quit privileged among High Elves and used to seeing what they could get away with.

Braid reached down her bodice and slowly pulled out a golden flute. The other two gasped, great blue eyes going wide in amazement. "That's Master Fallringer's flute! Ally, How on earth did you get it?" Curls asked in amazement, eyeing the flute up and down.

Ally reveled in her moment of triumph before explaining. "I just flashed him a little…" she leaned forward and pushed her shoulders forward to create cleavage. "… and slipped it off the stand he had a good gander."

Sill blushed roots to toes, earning her the howling laughter of her companions. "Really, sister, it's only a matter of time," Ally said, trying to shush Curls with one hand and console Sill with the other, "before you figure out how to use your feminine wiles to disarm any man you come across. They arnt a bright lot, you know."

"Pappa is bright." Sill said.

"Aye." The three girls all nodded in unison. Their father had wanted girls; that way they would be ambitious and unsusceptible to the wiles of the other gender. Instead of spending their time letting their hormones lead them around, they would be the ones getting pursued. More time to study; more attention for advancement. Their mother had agreed but had insisted on some boys to round out the lot some day. Amongst the High Elves male children were not as valued.

Ally took up the flute and started a tune. Recognition set in and Curls took up the harp and added to the song. "Common, Sill, lets hear it!"

Sill was still blushed from earlier but yielded after a moment, "I just done have your skill, Vessy"

"Sylvannas Windrunner, if I don't hear you singing in the next three seconds I'm going to beat you with this harp!"

Cringing, Sylvannas smirked. She knew how to get her audience going. At a shaded picnic spot on the golden beaches of a beautiful foreign land two elves played the music of angles. And then a note broke lose… The voice of an angel rising threw the trees, spreading down the beach, engulfing everything it touched.

Sylvanans sung.

The scene changed abruptly.

The trees were dead now, the shoreline no longer glimmered. The sky was dark and overcast. Murlocs fought Scourge troops, spreading gore and ooze threw the sand. The girls, in their beautifully embroidered dresses and flowing locks of soft hair sung as if there wasn't a war being waged around them. As if the very ground they sat on wasn't turning green with the spread of the plague.

Kayas was sucked backward, down the winding paths the girls had used to get there. She wound up at the Spire again. There were Rangers there, armed and ready. Up what had been a beautifully manicured lane marched scores of undead troops, abominations, giant undead spider creatures and ghouls of every shape and size. In the air the remaining light of day was blacked out with thousands of gargoyles and plague-carrying bats.

A figure in plated green chain mail sat astride an older version of the same horse that had once bore her to the ocean that day. Her hair was still set in flowing curls, though the lack of sunlight sucked out all the color making it look bone white.

"They advance quickly, Lady Vereessa!"

Screaming in rage, Vereesa Windrunter set her white horse into a full gallop down the hill towards the advancing army. The hundreds of rangers behind her did the same.

"Make them pay for every life they have taken!" She called.

A cry went up amongst the rangers, sweeping down the hill and into the maw of death.

The scene changed.

An older Sylvannas was arguing with an older Braid – Ally. "You can't go! You can't. Not when we need you most!" Everything the older girl took out of her chests to pack was quickly replaced the moment the taller woman's back was turned. The house looked human, though the architecture was unfamiliar to the little Druid.

"I am serving my people as I am sworn to do!" The other girl said, pushing her sister out of the way when she realized why her packing was taking so long.

"Your angry, I understand-"

"They killed our brothers! Our cousins! Our grandfather had to fight his own son!" More things were shoved into a trunk, "They have to die, and this is how it has to be done!"

"You're abandoning us!" Sylvannas was in tears, her weathered young face stretched tight in grief. "Alleria, _please_… _Don't leave me_."

"Sill, don't make me choose. I have to do this." Walking to the adjoining balcony, Allerian Windrunner scanned the sky for something. Making a sharp whistle, she held up her gloved arm. From the rooftop swooped an enormous buzzard. It landed on her upraised fist-

The scene changed.

Alleria had turned into a statue now. Standing over 5 stories tall she was one of many lining the causeway into what Kayas recognized as Stormwind from the picture books she had seen in at her history lessons. And deep inside she knew that after that day Sylvannas had never seen her sister again, nor ever would.

The scene changed.

Vereesa was there, staring at a figure shaded in the night. Only the red of its eyes showed. The High Elf's blue eyes were streaming tears, ears folded over in anguish. "What did he do to you? What did that monster do to you?"

From the shadows Sylvannas Windrunner spoke, "It is better I did not answer your question. Let me keep these memories for us both." Something was wrong with her voice. It had a strange metallic echo to it.

Vereesa fell to her knees, "He took everything. Alleria, Qual'thalas, and now you! Is everyone dead? Am I all that's left?"

The red eyes in the shadows blinked, "Listen to me well my love, for after today we are no longer sisters. The Alliance whom you hold so dear has turned me out. Your husband and your unborn children – yes, I know the life that lies in your womb – would destroy me on sight. Think no more of it. 'Sill' died when the Elfin Gates fell. Now I am Queen of the Forsaken. I remain to see the monster who did this to us fall."

"And then what? What will you do when your revenge is taken? The Scourge needs a ruler, we know as much!"

"That is not my destiny. My people hunger for revenge. I intend to see them well fed."

"Sill-"

The Banshee Queen was already gone.

The scene changed.

The girls were sitting on the beach again. Flooding blue skies, thick white clouds, shimmering sand. One played the stolen flute, one sipped the stolen wine. One sang a song stolen from the angels. Instead of the gentle washing of the waves, the cry of the seabirds, or the spirited song the child Sylvannas was singing, Kayas heard a dirge playing in her mind sung by another voice.

_Where at the tip of the pass,_

_Threw the Elfin Gates;_

_Lies the land of Qual'thalas,_

_Where forbidden powers they partake._

Alleria grimaced, "Mother and Father guzzle this stuff – it's disgusting!"

_You'll never see your home again;_

_Say goodbye to Qual'thalas_

_The Elfin Gates have fallen now;_

_All your hope is lost._

The other two girls laughed in their agreement, rosy-cheeked already from their turn at the bottle.

_Flee from here, sweet child,_

_To be feral and be wild!_

_Please don't misunderstand;_

_For they would all destroy you, _

_Who walk across your land.*_

* Tune of "The Stolen Child", a poem by William Butler Yeats (_Irish Monthly_, Dec 1886)


	18. Theory of Undead Druids

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

Someone does a lot of yelling and venting in chapter. Prepare for loads of pent up frustration to be spewed all over these pages and not end until the last paragraph. I tried to shake the chapter and get some of the spew off, but it had soaked in good and wasn't coming out.

~*~*~Chapter 17 ~*~*~

Kayas woke slowly. There was a warm flooding sensation threw all her limbs; she was floating on clouds. Someone glided towards her. Held out a hand. She took it without question, trusting the loving blue eyes. It _pulled_ her.

Reality streamed back. Kayas awoke very quickly now. She didn't know how long she had been out and her limbs ached from disuse. Moving them hurt from being atrophied into a laying position for so long.

She was feline, but laying on a bed. It smelled of perfume and silk. Cracking her eyes brought skull-searing pain for several seconds. These eyes had not been used in quite a long time. Slowly she relaxed, working each muscle by clenching and unclenching them. Get the blood flowing and she would be able to move them without pain.

Feeling like someone had taken a mallet to her entire body was good right? It meant she was alive… right?

Squealing as loud as she could without pulling a bruised rib she caught someone's attention. A giant black panther leapt up on her bead. It was three times her size easily and almost as big as the bed. The little Druid froze in surprise. 'Who would let this thing in here?' Flashbacks of the cat that nearly ended her life in Auberdine streamed back.

It sniffed her ear, then eyes, then breath. Then licked her. Laying down next to her, it's warm body nuzzled into her rather fittingly. It continued to lick her head and neck. An intimacy that was as alien to her as groping someone to say hello. If this cat turned out to be some form another Druid had managed, s/he was going to get its gonads clawed off.

As she continued to flex her muscles, gaining range of motion very slowly, her gaze darted around the room. This wasn't anything she recognized. Rising slowly, pushing away from the giant black cat, she slid to the floor with a soft thump.

It was dark in here. Someone didn't expect her to be awake. Everything from the floors, walls, roof and even her fur looked ashen and gray. Only the fresh linens on the bed had an ounce of color. The gray was sickly, the Druid decided; she didn't like it at all.

There were feet moving across the old wooden floor outside the room. The door was opened, light flooding into the room. A figure stopped in the doorway, gazing at her. She turned away from brightness of the streaming light.

The Priest came in and shut the door. Gently he walked over and picked her up. She didn't resist when he laid her on the bed once more. "Have you the stomach to eat?" His voice was very soft, gentle. Like snow falling into a fire he was descending and waiting to be burned.

Turning away, burying her face into the cat, she refused to acknowledge him. He had left her there to die at that Elune-Forsaken woman's hands. And instead of letting her perish in the mire and putting an end to all these miseries he continued to heap upon her he instead pulled her out and brought her back to life. Or denied her the release of death to begin with. Whichever.

"I expect you to be angry with me." There was a soft creek as a door was opened and an object removed from a cabinet across the room. "I deserve your wrath." His weight added to the springs made them screech in protest.

One hand came to rest lightly on her back, seeking unexplainable permissions. It felt wrong, like he was touching her threw a glove. "Please look." When she refused to move, he reached over to turn her head.

The panther put a paw on the back of his hand, all five claws extended to max length.

The Druid declines your invitation. Get lost.

Jetadiah wavered as he stood to leave, dejected less because of the enormous cat and more from his own inner turmoil. He left something on the bed and went, closing the door softly behind. The feel of his presence lingered in the room.

Sitting up, the Druid looked down. It was a flat square of wood lying face down. Curious, she tested turning into her upright form. A moment latter she was looking at ashen skin that blended in with ashen boards and ashen windows.

Lifting the plank of wood revealed a hanging mirror on the other side. Even before she could wonder why it was lying face down she knew. The Plague had changed her. She had felt it inside, could feel it even now, as it had started to work even before the life bled from her body.

An undead monster now, like the Warlock?

There was a sob and a whimper of despair, her fluttering heart threatening to flee from her chest in sorrow. The cat answered softly, as if to try and reassure her. Heart plunging threw her stomach, the Druid tried hard to hold down the bile. To be a disgusting dead thing-! To be one of _them._ Never allowed to run the forests of Ashenvale again; never to see her family: never to walk the beaches of Darkshore with her friends. They would kill her on sight now.

_Like Sylvannas and her sisters…? _

Tears dropped onto her hand where it rested on the back of the mirror. 'I don't have to look,' she though. 'I could just… accept it?' But that idea was rejected before it fully formed. It wasn't in her to run away from the truth. Sooner or latter the mirror would be exposed and she would draw it to her face.

It took several minutes to go threw with it. She started with her hands, realizing it wasn't just the gloom of this room. They were ashen and numb. That's why it felt like he touched her threw a glove. Her nails were tinted an ugly dark purple. Like a particular fungus that grows on trees in Darkshore when too many furbolgs wee there.

Picking up the mirror slowly, she turned it over. It took another moment to look into it.

The face that stared back was not her own. It was gray where once it had been a light purple and sunken in, like a starving refugee she had once seen on the road from Durotar. The small lips that once were pinkish were now dull purple. Lifeless. Eyes that had at once been silver, then amber as she had started to perfect the Druidic arts, was the most shocking change: a pale yellow glow from solid white orbs. Just like the fel-damned Warlock.

Her hair. A huffed sob shook her shoulders, dislodging a clump of hair. Dropping the tool on the bed, both hands went to her head. The locks were unbound, falling loosely down her back. Picking up the mirror, she looked closer. Black as sin without even a touch of highlights that might make it pretty with some treatment. It was frayed and fuzzy from not having been washed properly in so long.

Anger ripped threw her. Vain as every elfin race was, and as much as they despised each other, they all understood one thing: Do. NOT. Touch. The. HAIR!*

She leapt from the bed, catching balance when her stomach churned in protest, adrenaline flowing. Smashing the mirror against the wall she wheeled out of the room, slamming the door against the wall as she threw it open.

He was waiting down the hall in the only other room in the broken down house. He balanced on a two-legged stool by the fire, leaning in and stirring a cook pot. A place had been polished off on the hearth and a loaf of bread was baking on the stones there. He wore a simple linen shirt and breeches, and an apron he had once explained Corrosa could not borrow because he used it when 'tinkering'. The warlock had found a tarp to keep gore off her clothing instead.

That he didn't look at her boiled her blood right good. All of her anger and frustration, of her sorrow and pain, of her sickening longing for her homelands and of the utter feeling of betrayal came pouring out. A damn had broken in her heart and there was no stopping the flood.

"What did she do to me? What did you let that _thing_ make me?" Her voice was high pitched, sounding just like the screaming adolescent she was. Disused as her voice often was, it was strong. Maestra herself had commented on it…

He still didn't look at her. "Your" gulp ",alive." The last word became a stumbling block.

She raged then. Incensed that he would dare drag her into an enemy capital city and then leave her alone with that _other _thing, she mocked him mercilessly. "I was very much alive before you _left me_. I tried to tell you it was a bad idea but, _noooo_, Jetadiah knows best!" The last three words were said in a peppy, mocking voice. Though it may not be a good idea to mock such a powerful man, a Priest's job was to listen to the woes of others – especially if he was the harbinger.

Despite not having a talent with speaking, the Druid was incited to strike out as much as she could to spread her misery.

One shoulder turned half towards her, his eyes still glued to the pot, "I am truly sorry for my laps in judgment. I hadn't known the Dark Lady would get to you before I could get to her." As if to offer up a glimmer of hope in the gloom of her darkest hour he informed, "You are still kaldorie, still a Druid of the Wild, still a child of Cenarius and Elune… for the most part."

There had been a small uplifting in her spirit, the part of her that didn't like being so upset and would forgive any transgression if balance to her soul could be restored. With the last line it had snuffed out the spark. Her muscles refused to move. If they did she was going to tear him to pieces. Starting with his immaculate black hair. "For the most part!" she fumed. "_I don't have pupils!"_

"Ah… a minor setback." The tone was one he had taken when some explosive charge he had made once had blown up in the bag and his horse lost a leg. The Warlock had laughed so hard she fell off her mount. The dreadsteed tried to smash her face into the ground but only got two fingers.

The Druid found something nearby and threw it at him, "You're a terrible liar, Priest!" The folded pair of sox bounced off his shoulder. He looked down at them in surprise, then back to his pot. His mount had to be 'repaired' at a horse graveyard, where some necromancers had re-atatched a freshly dead leg to the beast. The horse had been surrounded all night by things tearing and eating at the meat of the leg. Worse still, it had screamed all night when it felt every bite and tear. In the morning it looked the same as the other leg had – meatless and scarred with fang marks.

"I can fix it…"

"You can fix the Plague? You can? Then why do the Forsaken still exist?" When he didn't answer fast enough she put a toe over the invisible line she knew better than to cross, "If you could fix it when why haven't you fixed Corrosa?"

He stopped breathing, one hand going to his chest as if to clutch his still heart. Even in the midst of her anger the Druid felt a twinge of regret. Perhaps he had tried and perhaps he had failed? "Just a few tweeks and-"

"I am not your _toy_, Priest! Or is this how your order does things in Silvermoon? I hear the Blood Elves are addicted something fierce to your demonic magic. Perhaps you think there is some sort of Plague that can cure you and wish to experiment-"

"No," There was so much pain in his sob, so much hurt that came with her accusations, "That's not why I kept you-"

"My skin is gray and I can't feel it; am I really alive or are you lying to me like your kind have lied so much in the past?" She spoke of the Horde, those brutes that savaged Stormwind and burned down half of Kalimdor in their rampage out of the Dark Portal.

"Aesthetics-" 

"I like blue hair." Her voice was still loud, echoing, but loosing power, "_Blue!_ I saved up for two weeks chasing rats around the Sunshadow Farms to be able to afford to change it!" She would be able to stay furious if it didn't seem like every word she said weren't slicing him to the bone and cutting at his heartstrings.

He was slumped over, the weight of his crime resting fully on his shoulders. If it were possible to look like an old man and a weeping child at once, only an immortal elf could do it. "I am _truly_ sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I though Corrosa could protect you-"

"Stop right there." She mocked the voice of her school teacher, "'Today were going to learn about the undead warlocks. What do undead warlocks hate more than anything else.'" Now used her own voice, "Well, that's easy: they hate _everything__ equally_!" Back to mocking teacher voice, "'That's right, Kayas, they don't discriminate. So if you have an enemy in your custody and decide to keelhaul them threw enemy capital cities, what is the one way that ensures they will suffer at your hands the most?'" back to her voice, "Oh, I don't know… put a warlock in charge of keeping them 'safe' and then run off?" Teacher voice, "'Correct! Cookies for you.'"

"She tried."

"The fel she did." So much venom in her conviction, "Sylvanas didn't even say a word to her and she sat down like a good little pet. The Forsaken are the Banshee Queen's minions; you expect them to stand up to her? To be _able_ to? HA!"

There was a long moment of silence. The Druid knew her assessment had been exactly correct, though she did not know the details. The Priest's head was bowed, "Please be angry at me, but do not be angry at Corrosa. There was nothing she could do. If it had been anyone else-"

"If it had been anyone else, I'd have been chopped in half, lit up in flames, eaten or made to match sox for the rest of my days." In truth, she had no idea what the Troll leader would do. She heard they were a pretty weird lot. Speaking of sox, she grabbed two more handfuls and threw them all at the Priest. He still refused to look at her. "What else is wrong with me? I can feel it inside me, the damage the Plague did."

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his quivering eyebrows and bobbing ears. "Your forms were … um… changed." He ducked as shoes went flying by his head. They smacked the wall and sent dust into the air. "All the forms have gray fur or skin. The Plague … uh… infected the open wounds. I managed to heal your mouth where –" and she noticed his left hand was bandaged, "you bit me, but where it touched your gums and teeth I couldn't fix the black staining."

"My _teeth_ are black too?"

"Just the," dodge, "tips of the fangs where it broke the skin and some of the gum around the molars," dodge, "but I was able to heal your broken bones and the," dodge-dodge, "organ damage. I'm afraid the yellowing of your eyes is permanent. The plague tends to," dodgedodgedodgeblock- he was rambling now, "um… to put it shortly," block, "discolor the eyes a bit. Most Scourge have ghostlight eyes**, but the Forsaken have souls, for the most part, and it makes their eyes glow yellow with inner light. You see-" _whap_, right in the back of the back of the head, "it's not a bad thing. Asthetics, you see? It could be worse-"

"Why wont you look at me?" she fumed, the petulant child inside her whining so loud it drowned out her anger at the moment. She didn't care why Forsaken eyes shown yellow: he was telling her all this with the anonymity of a turned back. It's like avoiding eye contact when confessing to a crime.

"Um… there are some clothes in the wardrobe in your room."

Looking down she realized she was wearing nary a stitch. Blushing from head to ashen toe, she dropped into the feline form and wailed all the way into the bedroom. He could have said something earlier!

*Quote: Lor'thremar Theron, Regent Lord of Qual'Thalas

** Wowiki article, "Forsaken"


	19. Mr Hyde

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

I'm not satisfied with the wording of this chapter, but I got the concept down on paper at least

Additional notes at the end of the chapter.

~*~ Chapter 18 ~*~

Kayas lay in the little room crying for hours. She was heartsick and emotionally worn down and at her wits end to boot. The panther licked her back and neck and arms. Every form she turned into, expecting the great feline to reject her didn't matter; he nudged and licked and pawed away as if she were perfectly normal. His acceptance soothed her torment.

Sometime latter when the outside room had quieted down and she assumed the Priest had gone to bed, she crept over to the wardrobe to have a look. The wooden cabinet was tall, the dominant piece in the room. Opening the creaking door she discovered the nail on which the mirror had once hung.

In the bottom were ratty old clothing belonging to a man and a woman. Pictures had been laid facedown under the pile. Lots of them. The Priest had gone threw the house and gathered up all the photos and put them in the cabinet, then took the clothing off the hangers and lay them on top.

She didn't want to see them or know who had once owned the house. In this era, one did not have a house taken from you – you were taken from the house. The people in the pictures were not coming back; their dwelling was frozen in time.

Kayas turned her attention to the clothing on the hangers. A black silk dress more suited for a high-end housewife, a white woolen dress matching the one she had been wearing, and a leather top and matching skirt.

Without thinking she reached for the top and skirt. The bodice was plain green dyed leather and matched the skirt but it was _leather_ and she missed the feel of it on her skin. The laces were brown and thick with little bells on the end. The outfit was snug and fit very well, if not a bit revealing about the midriff. Which was fine with her since no one saw her armor in her feral forms anyway.

Wishing she hadn't broke the mirror; she looked down at herself trying to get a view of what she looked like. What she saw sickened her. The ashen gray skin clinging too tightly to her bones yielded the look of a walking corpse. One would mistake her for the undead had she not the ears of a kaldorie, and the height.

Stalking out of the room on all furry four, the Druid headed strait over to the cookpot. The Priest had gone to bed hungry judging by how full the pot was. Kayas didn't know why – the stew was delicious! She finished it off and was licking out the inside of the pot when the smell of the bread caught her attention. One side was burned but it didn't stop her finishing it off as well. And the jug of water.

Glancing around the room she finally found the Priest. He blended into the drab despair of this place. Fast asleep under an old mat under the broken down table. Nary a thing about his person that would let you know he wielded any sort of power.

The Druid walked up, watched for a moment. Long dark blue hair was turning white at the roots and splashed across his bare chest. Kayas wondered if it was a stress thing, same as with Humans. There were lines in his face where he dreamed of something awful. Long dark blue eyebrows twitched, ears folded over. He was crying in his sleep. Cocking her head she wondered why their ears folded and hers did not. It was such an unusual characteristic of their race – and adorable when it wasn't displaying sincere pain.

She was furious with him, stamping down the part of her teachings that preached forgiveness. His nightmares were well deserved, she told herself, though the pity welled up to spite her. First thing in the morning she would be demanding her release. Her debt to him was repaid with him letting that _thing_ anywhere near her.

Padding back to her room she leapt up on the bed and settled down to sleep. The panther folded into her, warm and comforting. She forgave him for being so intrusive earlier. Something alive in this darkened place full of someone else's memories was such a comfort. She'd have to thank whoever let him in here.

Kayas dreamed.

She was standing outside the house. There were black and gray woods all around her. The feeling of emptiness of the location was suffocating. Not a living thing, just a full moon overhead. The house was completely alone, tiny.

Flashes of light erupting inside showing threw windows and cracks in the walls. Smashing sounds, thrown furniture, struggles and cries of despair were heard from inside.

"No-nono!" Someone moaned over and over. Kayas rushed to the door but found it locked on both the outside and in. Whoever was suffering she could _feel_ it to her core. Like the hunger of the flesh, but this was hunger of the _soul_. And it was killing its victim. But who else was helping?

A moan of pain, thrashing around the inside of the house, "Please, not now. She's not back yet… _please_-!" He was pleading with the other, begging reprieve.

Kayas mouth fell open. The Priest! What was going on? Did he mean her? I'm right outside! She tried to call to him, "I'm here! I'm right outside! Let me help you!" Her small fists banged on the dry rotted wood of the door.

"No! Blaze, no -! You shouldn't have come here – "His words were laced with a heartsick anguish, a fear that he was going to kill someone he cared about very much. His mind was splitting apart; if he lost this fight his sanity was forfeit.

Something deep inside the Druid spoke "_**I never left. I've always been with you. You just never noticed me before.**__" _For a moment she wondered who Blaze was, then discarded it.

Gathering the powers of the moonlight, she aimed a bolt of energy at the lock and blasted it off the door. Unfortunately when she tried the door she found the inside locks still in place.

"Let me in!" She banged on the door with both hands, "Let me-"

It was quiet. No thrashing, no blinding flashes of light. Just stillness.

She jumped and ran from the house when the entire wall the door was on shook. Someone else was speaking now, "The power, I felt the _power_." The door shook, dust flying away from the house.

Kayas was scared now. What power? What was in there?

"_I need iiiit!" _the voice shrieked loud enough to shake the wood around her. Kayas cover her ears to drown it out. What being makes a noise like _that_?

Fear sang in her heart, she turned from the house and ran on two legs, unable to remember how to shift into her Dishu form. There was more banging and more screaming. The further she got away the worse it was.

"Come back!" the thing shrieked, "I'll die! Do you want me to die?"

'Yes,' she though, 'I want you to die, whatever in fel you are.'

"I'll take him with me." It hissed malevolently, seeming to be all around her and still locked in the house at once.

She stopped. The Priest. He was going to kill the Priest? Her heart and her mind warred. On the one hand he had left her at the mercy of the Dark Lady… on the other he had not done it on purpose… Should he die? Should she leave him to die?

Turning back, she resolved that, no, it wasn't right to leave him with whatever monster was in there and hurting him. He had come back for her after all, even if he was unable to fix everything the Plague did to her. He tried. And so would she.

"That's a good girl. That's my Blaze." The voice coaxed her back to the door. It was inches away on the other side.

Again, the voice inside Kayas rose up to speak for her, _"__**Bring me your peace and I will heal your soul**__."_

"_I don't need you_!" The being inside the cabin shouted, "I don't need you; you were never the source!"

There was more banging on the door, more dust flying, the entire house shaking, and explosions of blue-white light. Screaming. The Priest was screaming.

Kayas fell to the grass with the sound of it, the feel of it. His soul was being consumed in the agony. He fought it, but he was losing his mind. "Please," the little Druid begged to anyone who would listen, eyes closed, "Elune, Cenarius, Ysera… help me. Tell me what to do!"

It was a long moment before she noticed the quite again. She opened her eyes – and screamed.

A clawed hand latched around her wrist, dragging her towards an alien face with huge glowing blue eyes and it's black, drooling mouth. Eyes bigger than anything's eye had a right to be. It was bald and brown skinned like a demon, moist from its fight inside the house. It hunched over, chest deeply sucked in, long and thin ears jutted up into the air. All over its skin were blue glowing pustules.

She screamed again when it attacked the source of her power; her connections to the natural world. It felt like her mind was being ravaged; her will taken away. It was maddening to feel the emptiness left behind. It lasted only for an instant, before she was flung violently to the ground.

"_I told you not to come here_!" The Priest screamed at her, pushing her away, urging her to flee.

She pleaded with him, "What was that? Please, let me help you."

"There is nothing you can do for me. _Nothing_. I cannot hold it for long; it knows there is a source here now and it will fight me stronger than ever."

"I can't leave you alone with that thing!"

Looking down at her where she begged him from the ground he said, "I have fought the beast inside me since I was an infant in the womb, child. I can hold him."

Kayas gasped, stood quickly, "Inside you?"

Closing his eyes against the waves of soul-sucking hunger, the Priest begged, "Not now- now is not the time. She's not here. The source is gone."

Kayas jumped out of reach as his eyes snapped open – a vivid blue – and he reached for her again. From his mouth came the same voice as the monster, "Just a little. It wont hurt much, I'll just take a little! I must _feeeed_…"

Kayas ran. Behind her she knew the creature followed. Glancing back only once to see how close it was she almost tripped her own two feet. "Priest, stop! Why do you do this? What is this thing?"

The voice, which had formerly been inside her, was now outside and ahead. She followed its words to the clearing, _**"He speaks the truth, young Druid of the Wild. He can fight the beast inside him, but he cannot keep it under control forever. He needs to feed or he will descend into madness. He will become it."**_

There was a clearing, not unlike the dappled woods of her homeland. A shrine of some kind. "I don't understand. Please help me understand." She fell to her knees in great sobs, hating the feeling of being powerless. Feeling this way was not why she chose the path of the Druid!

"_**Look now, I will protect you."**_

She turned. There was a softly glowing purple field over the shrine. Outside the field the Priest stood. His hair was disheveled, sticking to the sweat of his face and bear arms. He wore only the linen shirt and breeches. His blazing blue eyes* pierced her to the core, staring directly at what it wanted from her, what the monster inside him had tried to feed from.

The source of her arcane power.

"_**He cannot help what he is,"**_ the voice came from nowhere and everywhere, "_**he tries as they all do to find a way to free themselves. This is what the Highbourn did to them. This is what Queen Azshara did to them. He is not to blame."**_

The Priest fell to his knees, one hand braced against the shield and another on the ground, panting. Lose hair fell to curl on the ground around him. He wept for his sanity. "Not now, she's not here right now…" he prayed to himself over and over.

"Can you not help him? Can I not?"

"_**If he were to feed from you, child, he would destroy your connection to your source and you would become like him; always hungering for magic. And so the disease can spread among any race capable of wielding that power**."**_

Kayas was crying now too. She didn't like to see people suffer. "Why is this happening to him? What did he do to deserve this?"

"_**He was born, child. That is all**_." After a pause the voice went on, sensing this was not enough explanation, "_**Queen Azshara bred her Highbourn mages to create stronger offspring, able to wield greater and greater amounts of power.**_

_**The power they wielded from the Well of Eternity warped them on a physical level. They became beings infused with it, relying on it for their very existence. They are driven into madness without a source to feed from."**_

The Druid didn't know that. She always assumed, from the way people talked, that the reason the Blood Elves sought sources of power was because they wanted it for it's own sake. None of her elders mentioned addiction or physical need.

She betted, bitterly, that none of them had ever felt their minds tearing apart as she had felt when Jetadiah fought it inside the house. Her elders had some explaining to do if she ever saw home again.__

"_**He was born into the survivors of that race. His people fed from the Sunwell. But like the kaldorie and quel'dorie before them, the sin'dorie was nearly wiped out for the power they possessed.**_

_**When the Sunwell was destroyed it plunged the sin'dorie into madness. 90% of their race was wiped out."**_

Kayas gasped at this, having no idea the casualties had been that high.

"_**He was there to watch the Scourge march threw Qual'thalas. He felt the Sunwell grow tainted, unusable and watched the majority of the remainder of his people go insane and turn on each other. Half of the sin'dorie home city is still overrun with the Wretched and more continue to descend."**_

Her brow furrowed. Her elders had never mentioned Wretched, had never said anything about a hunger that would literally drive a person insane. This shocked and dismayed her, wondering if she were susceptible to this same fate were she to use too much of the arcane arts as well. "He's a Priest, is the Light he wields not enough?"

Softly, someone was singing. Behind the voice of the power that protected her and under the sound of the gentle sobs from the half-broken Blood Elf rose the same voice she had heard singing on the beach the night before.

"_**As one of the few survivors who have not succumb to the ranks of the Wretched, he turned to the Light as a source***. He would have remained with the High Elves but for the one thing that could draw him to the Horde."**_

"What?"

The words to the song grew louder and louder but she still couldn't understand them.

"_**Her."**_

Behind the struggling Blood Elf stood a figure. The emotions that clouded her face as she watched him broke the Druid's heart. Flowing white hair and blue eyes: it was the woman who had pulled Kayas out of the dream world the night before. It was the same woman whose soul now resided inside the Warlock.

She gasped, "Corrosa?"

"_**Yes. He needs her as she needs him."**_

"He became Horde for her?" 'I would never, _ever_ do that for someone. Ever.'

"_**Yes. The Blood Elves are convinced they can find a new source. They refuse to give up on magic. He does not agree with them. Yet he lied to them and befouled his body with demonic energies and joined their ranks in order to remain with her."**_

Demonic energies?__She couldn't picture the Priest doing such a thing… In the background she could make out a few words of the song now.

"_**He in turn is helping look for a way to undo the Forsaken curse, that she may live again. The soul you seen is pure and uncorrupted and the by-product of the first failed attempt to reverse the Plague. But the soul cannot remain long inside a corrupted shell lest it become corrupted itself."**_

The pieces snapped into place. Kayas understood. She had figured it out in Qual'thalas actually; she just didn't understand the depths of it till now.

"They feed each other…"

"_**Yes. She is the Shadow that feeds his body and he is Light that feeds her soul."**_

The voice sang, loud and strong now:

"_Where once they had Elune there_

_Forsook her for the Sunwell_

_The Scourge bore down the light;_

_Sun children plunged into the night."_

* Wretched and hungering Blood Elves have blue eyes for a reason so don't fuss at me!

** Every elven race is capable of becoming Wretched. Becoming a Wretched is instantaneous the moment an elf yields to the craving for arcane magic. It can also be undone if the elf's will is strong enough, though there is only one example of an elf reversing the transformation (excluding Kayas' dream).

*** Since the Sunwells destruction there are actually few Priest/esses amongst the Blood Elves. The ones that remain are former High Elves still loyal to the Light they followed as members of the Alliance.


	20. Of Cats and Leftovers

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

I cut this chapter off a bit short to make up for the last chapter and it's epic dream length.

~*~ Chapter 19 ~*~

"You ate it all? All of it. Even licked the pot clean, did you? And the bread too..? And the water!"

The Druid woke grumpily. Her stomach rumbled. Need food now. Stretching, tongue lolling out several inches, relaxed into the warmth of the other cat's body. Yes, she liked him being here.

There was a soft tapping on the door. She growled menacingly. The footsteps retreated hastily. 'Respect the growl, fool.'

There were other voices now. A mans, well cultured. He was in discussion with the Priest who was still bewailing the loss of all his food and drink. "… and I didn't even hear her come in. She ate everything."

His partner in conversation laughed good-heartedly, "Well she is a wee tiny lady. I bet you let Corrosa hold the collar, yes? Even for a moment? Come now, m' Lord, fess up!" He sounded perfectly Human, like the travelers who often came threw her village on the way to Darnassus.

The Druid's stomach grumbled again. Need food now. Moaning in protest, she hauled herself off the bed. Perking up, the panther watched her go towards the door. Realizing she was leaving, he hauled his great self off the bed and followed.

She shifted, half asleep, opened the door, yawed, rubbed her eyes, and shifted back to furry paws. What a set of nightmares she was having lately…

The sight in the living room woke her up with a snap. She stood there looking around, not sure what to do. The wonderful smell in the air was all she could process.

There was an undead man wearing expertly tailored robes in a stylish pattern. He was sitting by the fire, legs crossed, sipping a cup of tea from a finely worked porcelain cup. Over the small fire was a stand with a little metal teapot.

By the formerly busted up table, which was now propped up with odd and end objects, stood a tall Night Elf. He, younger than she by a couple years, was tinkering with something in his hands, bent to his work with a garish pair of goggles on his head. The Priest, in a matching pair of goggles was watching and nodding now and again.

They were both distracted but as soon as the Druid glanced back towards the fire she caught the gaze of the Forsaken man. He had noticed her right off the bat. He smiled, extending the cup of tea to her in invitation.

On his knee was the smallest imp the Druid had ever seen and mustn't weight more than a loaf of bread. She sported a beautifully worked plate gold necklace with a small purple crystal in the middle. A soul shard. She looked to be perfectly content sipping from her smaller cup of tea.

A Warlock. No, thank you, Kayas had her fill of Forsken Warlocks.

She backed up but ran into the panther, which was effectively blocking her retreat. The big cat was sniffing the air, then ground. Left, then right. Finally his brown eyes landed on a pack under the table. There was a quiver full of good quality arrows and a little bow there which what looked like a riffle scope attached to it.

Glancing up at the Night Elf, the panther walked causally over to the bag – snatched it up and ran for the back room! The door slammed behind him. Kayas stood staring at the empty hall and closed door. When she turned back around all three of the rooms occupants were looking at her.

"What is it?" The Night Elf asked in Common.

Before she could even growl out her disapproval, the Warlock beat her too it; "Caspin! Where are your manors? You can see she's a Druid."

The Night Elf, Caspin, looked properly admonished, "But what's _wrong_ with her? I've never seen a Druid with markings that glowed green like that."

'My markings are glowing? And green? Like that filth from the mote?' She glared at the Priest right as he dropped his gaze back to his work, tail lashing and ears laid back. 'You left out a detail, Priest.'

"You've seen a great many thing, youngling, but you've yet to touch the surface of strange things in this world. Finish your lesson and quit staring; it's quite rude."

"Mr. Meows took my bag…"

That wasn't really the panther's name, what it?

"…then go get it." The way he said it was the exact tone Corrosa had used when she suggested Jetadiah blow the locks on the Elfgate towers. Apparently they traveled in the same circles, putting this Warlock on Kayas' 'avoid' list as well.

Speaking of the Warlock, where was she?

"Yes, but… he's _still_ bigger than me." Caspin pouted. They had this same conversation at some prior point it seemed.

Kayas was so confused her head was spinning. Ok, first off there was a Night Elf scout in the house. And a Forsaken Warlock. And the scout… isn't the one who owns the cat? And why is the Priest giving him engineering lessons? And why is he here?

The Warlock's happy whistle was met with a 'roow' sound from the back room. "Bring it back," he called to the panther. "Share some with the other hungry tummies in the room."

Kayas sat down sharply when she realized he meant her. Share food with her. Feed her. Food was just about the only way he'd get his name taken off her 'avoid' list.

A moment latter the other cat emerged from the back room with the bag around his neck and a big steak between his chops. He laid the steak at her feet and nudged it towards her. When she didn't immediately take it, he hopped over her in a graceful arch and put the bag back under the table. He then went and curled up beside the fire at the Warlock's feet. A bony hand reached down to stroke the raven fur.

She sniffed the steak. It was perfectly fine without a trace of fel taint. Must mean the scout caught it. As she ate it, she watched the Priest and scout. The Priest smacked the other elf on the back of the head for staring, twice, before the half-grown child would go back to his work. He still shot her furtive glances, not knowing what to make of a bone thin gray Druid with yellow eyes and garish luminous streaks all over her body.

Kayas had very good hearing as a cat so he didn't miss the scout trying to inquire of her to the Priest, "What happen to her?"

"Why don't you ask her?" the Priest advised, well aware of how good a Druids hearing was.

The scout swallowed hard and glanced at her, decided that would be a bad idea once he realized she had heard him.

"Come, come, my dear, have some tea. It's imported!" The Warlock was holding out a fresh cup towards her. He sat it down on the other side of the hearth, furthest away from him.

Slinking towards it she decided that, as long as it wasn't glowing, it probably wouldn't hurt her. Drawing close, she sniffed it, dipped her tongue into the brew. Not a trace of fel energy. The Warlock could touch stuff and not leave a taint behind? Kayas was impressed.

_Smack_- "Ow! I wasn't staring!" Sulk. Jetadiah had no problem beating manners into younger males it seemed.


	21. Of Warlocks and Hunters

~*~ Chapter 20 ~*~

Kayas sipped the tea, letting the mellow liquid slide down her throat. It smelled like home. It tasted like home. She shifted to her elven form, took up the warm cup in her hands. "Shadowglen fadeleaf." She whispered.

The Warlock smiled, "Correct!" He wasn't bad looking for a formerly rotting corpse. At last he still had a full head of neatly groomed hair. Assuming it was _his_ hair of course… "The Goblins are wonders at cross faction trading. I paid a pretty penny for that-"

"Apparently I'm not kaldorie enough for the good stuff." The scout began to whine.

"You don't like tea, child."

"I do so! Just… not… _that_ tea."

The Warlock was highly amused, grinning at the youngest elf in room over her shoulder. "He prefers that stuff from Silvermoon. What do you call it?"

"Mana thistle, from Sunfair Farms. It's organic!"

The Priest was trying not to laugh but it wasn't working, "Define 'organic'." He scoffed. "Get back to work, youngling. Leave Serz alone. Whom he shares his _tea_ with is his business."

Serz yellow eyes narrowed and two sets of male snorts and giggles came from behind her. There was some joke here she didn't understand. Instead of feeding it he extended a bony hand to Kayas and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear. I am Sean of Darrowshire. People call me Serz now of course."

'Of course,' She had heard a great deal about Darrowshire during their travels threw the Plaguelands. There had been a traitor there and everyone had died. All that was left now is the absent-minded ghost of a little girl who repeatedly asks strangers to find her missing dolly. Heartbreaking.

Gingerly she extended her own hand, trying not to mourn the loss of color there as she took his. Also trying not to grimace at touching a member of the Forsaken willingly. But his hand was warm from the tea and not altogether overly disgusting. "Kayas of Auberdine, Druid of the Wild."

"Lovely meeting you, quite lovely."

The imp bounced off his knee and lifted the lid from a small silver box. Inside were sparkling shapes of many sizes and colors. "Would you like a sugar cube, sweety? It really brings out the floral undertones of fadeleaf." Her beady eyes were smiling, rimmed in black lashes darkened with mascara. The soul shard on her necklace was almost empty and glowing dimly.

Kayas blinked. A well-behaved demon? "Thank you. Any relation to Ziltip?"

The she-imp stiffened, "I should say not! That ghastly creature – all he does is complain. Of course, if I belonged to _that_ one-"

"Careful." Jetadiah warned.

"Of course. My apologies. Not all Warlocks are inclined to be so civilized as my Master here. It is a rather personal choice." There was a soft _thunk_ and Ms. Imp went bounding behind her master. "Not to mean there is anything wrong with – er- that is – the way _she_ is."

"Quite enough of that, Layla." Serz said. To the Priest he said, "Forgive her, m' Lord. Her tongue runs faster than her mouth when she's getting hungry."

"I don't take too kindly to insults of my companion, Serz. Teach her some manors before you bring her round again." Kayas turned to shoot a look at the Priest. He had gone at once from being a downtrodden wreck to a preening High Elf again in seconds. Then back to a wreck.

"Of course, it shant happen again." The little imp was hiding from the Priest's glare, swaying from foot to foot nervously. Serze reached down to pet the panther. "She's just hungry, isn't that right? Well fix her up in no time." Motioning for the imp to give him something, Serze took the small soul shard when the imps tiny hands dislodged it form it's mounting.

The shard shifted to float before the palm of his left hand, he stroked down the length of the panther. At first Kayas was about to protest, but then noticed the tiny twinges of purple looking lighting stuff shooing out of the cat's fur and into the shard. Cocking her head she watched as the application was repeated over the entire length of the purring cats body. Some of the bolts were rather large compared to others.

Then she understood. "Fleas? You're draining the souls from the fleas?"

The Warlock smiled, "That's right, my dear. And ticks. Mr. Meows wuvs his flea treatment. Don't you Mr. Meows?" The cat purred into his other palm. When the shard was full it was handed back to the imp, who replaced it on her necklace and went back to her tea.

Kayas blinked, "That's brilliant!" Fleas, those little buggers that bit her in the worst spots when she didn't bath often enough and spent too much time outdoors in her feline forms, were nasty buggers. She regularly had to undergo unpleasant and oft-times burning herbal treatments to get rid of them.

Serz smiled, genuinely pleased to hear the compliment. "I strive for excellence in all that I do."

Taking one of the sugar cubes out of the tin she dropped it into her tea. Serz reached for the pot and topped her cup off. She smiled in thanks. She liked this man. This undead being who looked so much like all the other Forsaken she had seen – but was as different from them as she was.

"So," Kayas asked, trying to figure out how to broach the subject, "What brings you to… this place?"

"A diplomatic mission." Serze said, topping off his own cup and adding a flower shaped sugar 'cube' with a solidified honey droplet in the middle. * "I suppose you're more concerned with Caspin here than I, correct?"

"Did you put a collar on him? Mr. Tinkerbottom overt there put one on me."

There was a twin set of yelps that made Kayas jump and almost drop her cup. She and Serz turned to find black soot on the twin aprons the two engineers were wearing. Both of them were rubbing blackened fingers. "That didn't work." Caspin frowned.

"Try not sticking your finger in it." Jetadiah quipped dryly.

"You stuck _your_ finger in it."

"Yes, but I'm a professional."

Caspin frowned, his silver eyes half lidded in annoyance. He leaned closer to inspect the contraption once more, keeping all fingers safely out of range.

Serze was speaking, "I was there in Undercity when Corrosa's horse trotted you threw the gates. She locked me outside with the wall of fire before I could say anything to her."

"I though she locked me in." And subsequently locked the Priest out on purpose. But it had nothing to do with them.

"Well there was that too. But in fact I would have taken you back outside. I know how to… get my way when it comes to Corrosa."

"Rawr!" Jetadiah growled. He and Caspin snickered like school children. If Serze could have blushed he would have, and yet his head was high and unashamed.

Kayas suddenly understood the tea joke. Serz and … Corrosa? She shuttered. Three sets of snickers went up that time. She was about to give her opinions but remembered what the Priest had said about the imp earlier. He was rather protective of his Warlock. _His_ Warlock.

"As if anyone could get to her." Serz said, "I think I've been trying for years now and she wont have anything to do with me. Wont keep company with the likes of me, _no_."

He took a deep breath and got back on topic, "I was outside and I guess that was good. I've never seen the High Priest here angry. I never knew it was possible."

"I get angry." Jetadiah sniffed indignantly.

"Yes, but your anger's name is usually Corrosa, so people don't usually realize it's from you."

"Well I have a reputation to uphold."

Caspin though now was a great time to say something, "Being a-" _Smack_. "Ow!" And was as quickly silenced.

"Yes, well." Serze was going on, "I'm glad I didn't get threw the door. The Dark Lady never liked me much so there wouldn't have been anything I could have done to save you either. She shut Corrosa down pretty fast."

Kayas wondered what that meant. If she had simply told Corrosa to stay out of it maybe, but the wording 'shut down' seemed odd.

"She read that book you wrote." Caspin offered.

"And promptly forbid me from making any more copies."

"It's a good book."

"Yes, but I think the Dark Lady doesn't want her people trying to tame live animals like our Mr. Meows here."** The Warlock continued to pet the giant panther as he spoke, "When Jetadiah came back I don't know what shocked the Dark Lady more: him going in the mote himself to get you, his accusations or his threats."

"Threats?"

"Oh yes-"

"Careful." The Priest said. He was sprinkling some kind of black powder over their experiment. The smaller elf beside him had scooted back against the wall. His mouth was formed in a small O and he was paying more attention to the story than anything.

"No matter. He and Corrosa are a very good team. They stopped you from changing into undead… completely. Not to say the Plague didn't change your system a bit… but not as much as you think. Most of the changes were superficial. Skin tone, nail tinting-"

"Eye color, lack of pupils, my hair – the glowing green spots all over me." Again the Priest pretended to be to integrated with his project to notice the glare. For a moment she caught the eye of the youngest elf though. He quickly looked away, as did she.

"All aesthetics you see. I have a cream for dry skin. It works wonders. An apothecary in Undercity-"

"I've had enough of what the Undercity's apothecaries have to offer, thank you."

* It's amazing what they've down with tea accessories in the modern era of Azeroth.

** Before Forsaken could be hunters. More on this in a latter chapter.


	22. Ow! Stop Staring

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

This chapter is a little long but I just couldn't cut out the last conversation, no matter how much I tried XD

~*~ Chapter 21 ~*~

"So what are you doing here?" Kayas asked. The conversation earlier getting sidetracked to a book for some reason…

"Ah, yes. Well, I'm here to spy for the Dark Lady." Serz remarked casually.

"He's going to tell the Banshee Queen your alive," Jetadiah grinned, "and well and she need not concern herself with the state of your being."

Kayas turned to Serz, "You're a lousy spy."

Serze smiled behind his teacup. Most undead were missing part of their lips or their lisp were too dry to allow them to smile. Maybe she should look into this cream he suggested. Caspin was laughing softly, "You have no idea."

"You," she said to Caspin in Darnassian, "are a much better spy."

Caspin looked surprised; the Warlock and Priest looked confused. "Common, please?" Jetadiah inquired. Kayas gave a feral smile. It was nice to know a language he didn't. Payback for all the times his companion and he had argued in Highbourn and so she couldn't understand all the things they called each other. Both corrupted versions of her own, but as different as night and day*.

"Um…" Caspin looked quite ashamed, "I didn't understand that either." Then he said something to Serze in Gutterspeak. The Priest smacked the back of his head again. The scout sulked.

Kayas eyes threaten to bulge out of her head, "What do you mean? Your kaldorie! Right? Or are you wearing one of those trinkets-" The look Jetadiah shot her halted the question. Apparently that wasn't common knowledge.

"Caspin is my ward." Serze said by way of explanation, "I found him in the Western Plaguelands some time ago. He was feral."

At first Kayas though he meant a Druid like herself and then she realized what it meant. The facts set in; he had been a feral child. Threw their travels in the Plaguelands Jetadiah was constantly asked to make "search lights" to find missing children. This had been the major thing that had slowed their movement threw the territory.

As the story went, the Scourge had not only smashed the towns and taken the adults away to bolster the armies, but had taken any children also. The children were never seen again except as parts of reanimated abominations. Parents fleeing from the wreckage of their lives oft went back searching for what got left behind.

Very few parents found their children, and many more fell to the Scourge in the process. The Plaguelands, it was said, had the largest population of feral children anywhere in the world. Small and fast and young enough not to be taught to ignore their inborn instincts, these children had not only escaped their ravaged villages, but had survived in the wild, avoiding both Scourge and humanity alike**.

Only a spark of life from a person who shared their blood, mixed with the Holy Light as wielded by an extremely powerful Priest could find these children. But often what was found only looked like what was lost…

"You were raised by … the Forsaken?" Kayas inquired, sipping at her tea again, squashing down the mental images of female Forsaken trying to breastfeed out of her mind. The imp held out her cup for her master to refill.

"Ah-um. Not quite. Serz … um… raised me." This wasn't something he liked to talk about, that was quite obvious.

'I didn't mean to intrude." The Druid, turning back to Serz.

_Smack_. "Ow! I wasn't staring!"

"Caspin has lived the majority of his life in the Plaguelands, Silverpine and Tirisfall Glade. We've taken trips elsewhere, but the kaldorie …"

Caspin's voice was cold, "They don't accept outsiders. So, to fel with them; I'm fine." Which he certainly was not.

Kayas was quiet. Yes, it was her people's policy to keep to themselves. They didn't travel unless needed, preferring the cool forever twilight forests of their ancestral lands. They didn't accept anyone that was too different or didn't otherwise belong. This policy had kept them safe for thousands of years since the Well of Eternity had exploded. There was a reason they didn't let just anyone with long ears march threw their territories.

She had been mistaken; he wasn't a spy. He wasn't a captive as she, memorizing facts for her eventual return home where she would divulge her stores of information. He was a willing participant.

He was Horde.

The though made her sad, she didn't even want to feel him there anymore. If it were her right she would have kicked him out of the house. A change of subject was needed and she knew what it was:

Turning sharply to the Priest, Kayas asked, "Where's your Warlock?" The memory of the dream flickered threw her mind and she wondered if, inside the Priest, such a monster as she had seen truly existed. His eyes did seem a bit lighter on the green side than usual.

Jetadiahs' face went blank, "She's in the Undercity."

"She's being 'reeducated'." Caspin said, trying to be helpful. Both Forsaken and Blood Elf glared at him and he looked quite confused, "That's what you said earlier-"

Serze looked more sad than angry, "Forgive my ward, he seems slow to pick up on certain things that _arnt discussed in mixed company_."

Good, Kayas though. She hoped whatever this 'reeducation' was quite unpleasant. "When will she be back?"

Now the Priest raised an eyebrow at her, a trick that caused his long brows to shift oddly. "I don't have an ETA, though I'll be happy to send word if you miss her company so much."

"Serz misses her co- OW!"

"Respect your elders." Jetadiah reproached, snatching his other hand away from the contraption as it snapped closed.

"I don't miss –" Kayas cleared her throat, "I just think it odd for her not to be here." Though I'm glad she's gone, was the unspoken part. "And where is here, if I might inquire?"

"Brill." Three male voices said at once.

When no further information was forthcoming, she stood, relished the feel of leather against her legs, and went do the door. If they wouldn't provide more information she'd get it herself. The door opened a fraction of an inch just as the Priest slammed it shut again.

"I think it best you not go outside, just yet."

"Come now, m' Lord." Serz was saying, "After that performance in the courtyard, no Forsaken _anywhere_ are going to raise a hand to her."

Guilt flashed threw the eldest elf's features, "I shouldn't have…"

Kayas was angry. She shoved him back, nearly causing him to fall over the remains of a chair. Flinging the door open, the waltzed out, head high.

And stopped.

There were buildings, if you could call them that, and life, if you could call it that, but it was obvious that you could not call them that. Dingy dirty 'houses' lined the streets, with 'shops' and 'stables' in viewing range. The road was torn up and scarred from battle. There wasn't a window in sight that wasn't broken. And not a clean thing to be seen; even the lanterns were caked in grime.

'People' milled about, shuffling on unfeeling feet. Some drug sleds of junk behind them, some drug the tattered remains of what they once wore in life. Men and woman, all sunken and dead, hollow and lifeless were the inhabitants of what used to be a very prominent human town.

All that was left was darkness, despair, echoing emptiness and the feeling that, though the residents still walked the streets, no one was here at all. Kayas the Druid couldn't feel a single thing alive in the entire town.

Turning, she went back into the house, down the hall to the room and locked the door behind her. As she went she heard the Priest say, "It isn't the Forsaken I feared, but this. Druids exist to maintain balance in the world: to preserve life. There is nothing here for her."

She lay down on the bed and cried, utterly alone. 'I want to go home.' She sent the message out into the universe for anyone that was listening. 'I can't do this anymore, I want to go home.'

A few minutes latter there was a scratching sound on the door. The panther wanted in. Brushing the tears from her face, she went to the door and let the oversized animal threw. It had another steak in its mouth.

She smiled, slid to the floor in a sitting position. "How did you get here?" she asked, scratching behind the big fuzz filled ears. "And how, for the love of Elune and Cenarius, do you keep sane in this place?"

"Ruuuuhhggg purr."

From the for room she heard a cry, "He took the last steak? Aww, that's all we had," followed by a soft _boom_ as his work exploded again.

Serze laughed, "Well that's what you get for gutterspeak. But, quite frankly, I think it's about time."

"Serz," The Priest gasped, the prude in him swimming to the surface, "You're speaking to a child."

"I'd wager he's old enough to hear a dirty line or two." There was a chuckle in the Warlock's voice. "And perhaps a pint spent at a pub?"

"Your whelp, you teach him how to drink." Jetadiah bluntly refused to shoulder a father's responsibility in teaching a son to be a _responsible_ drunk.

"What am I going to eat for dinner?" Caspin implored, not understanding what drinking and 'dirty lines' had to do with his foisted steaks.

Kayas grinned, shifting into her feline form and enjoying every bite of the meat. Let him go hungry. Not like he couldn't just walk into any local shop and re-supply. She wondered if he had papers or something he showed them so they wouldn't attack. Or a tattoo or a secret handshake or the fel-shard in his back pocket. What were criteria for being welcomed into the Horde these days?

"Come now, m' Lord, no one can drink you under the table. You know us Forsaken are lightweights."

"Perhaps I'll take him by the cathouse in Silvermoon on the way back as well?"

Silence. "If you think it best, m' Lor-"

_BOOM!_

"Is a cathouse where Druids live?" Casking asked threw gagging coughs.

Silence. "The female ones, maybe-"

_Stomp, stomp, stomp. Smack_. "What was that for?" The confused Warlock asked.

*English and Latin for those of us who are American. 90% of our language comes form Latin, but it is so corrupted and changed over the hundreds of years that we wouldn't be able to understand Ancient Romans to save our lives.

** Google search Feral Children for real stories of this kind. This idea came to me after reading _World War Z_. The though had occurred to me before, but this book put it into perspective.


	23. Berdens of the Stomach

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

If you're like me and you knitpick that these kinds of situations [background building, bonding, etc] still have to flow with the plot of the story just know that I did try to keep the huggy-feely and emo to a minimal without killing 'depth' too much ^_^

~*~ Chapter 23 ~*~

The Priest made her replace the steaks she had eaten, even though she only ate one without permission.

The Warlock and his ward slept over. Kayas refused to let anyone into the room, having been raised to know for a fact that if there is one female in a group of fifty men, and one bed between the lot of them, that she'll get the bed alone and the entire room it came in to herself. And the men sleep on the roof in the name of chivalry*.

"Women…" The scout had scoffed. It took the Priest two misses before Serz nailed him to the wall with a blistering lecture on how to be a gentleman. It disturbed Kayas that the speech started out with, "Listen here son, she might be a looker as far as the women you're used to being around, and unlike them, she's alive…"

The next morning, Serz and his ward headed off to town for a bit of light shopping. Jetadiah woke her by repeatedly dropping her hearthstone on her feline stomach till she shifted and snatched it away from him. He informed her she was to use it to get 'breakfast for four'.

She gleefully took up the task of hunting, knowing full well that every single animal in these parts was fully tainted and the only way to help restore balance to the area was to put them down so they couldn't continue to spread**.

Before she left he asked him something that had been weighting on her mind for quite some time, "Where are my things?" She meant the items she had on her when she was captured, but things she had gained along the way as well.

"The bag you ride in." He had answered as if it were most obvious.

"I mean the vial of Moonwell water. I had it when… um," 'What do I call her?' "the Dark Lady… tried to kill me. Where is it now?"

The Priest looked away, brows furrowed, "Sylvannas took it." Kayas grew quiet. "It was all I could do to get the two of you out of Undercity. If I fought her for the vial as well something else would have had to stay behind."

I vote the Warlock… "When did Corrosa go back?"

"After she helped me with the ritual that stopped you becoming mumble Forsaken."

Kayas was taken aback, unaware of these events. "Why would she help?"

"The Forsaken want a cure for undeath. I'm helping on the condition that Corrosa stays with me. You have no idea how powerful she is. If Sylvannas had the woman under her command at all times, the world would burn." He was gazing at her the way an elder does when they are judging how well a youngling handles heavy information. When she only nodded he seemed satisfied.

So it's not just because they feed each other? "You're keeping a powerful weapon away from… er… Sylvannas." The woman's name was sour on her tongue. She didn't like using so humanizing a sound to describe such an un-human _thing_ ***.

"Yes. I suspect she knows that is why I'm doing it, and tolerating me as long as I continue to help her find a cure. While at the same time I'm trying to disarm the weapon. With Corrosa I first have to cure the fel taint that makes her a Warlock. Then I can work to find a way to undo the physical changes of the Plague. Resurrecting an otherwise ordinary dead body is easy. I could do it with no hands."

"You can resurrect Forsaken?" Can resurrect anyone at all? Few of the Priests back home had this ability. It involved a detailed trial that killed more of it's participants than not – and those killed lost their souls in the process, oft times becoming enraged spirits.

"Yes, but they remain as Forsaken. Their souls are corrupted because their form is corrupted. The soul will come back to its body the same way it left it; tainted."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"You asked?"

She pursed her lips, having asked because she expected dodgy answers and not the upfront truth of the situation.

He shrugged: "You know how hard it is to keep a secret from a Druid? Try it sometime."

Kayas was silent. Priests had visions and Druids had dreams. Both were methods of revealing the image behind the smoke and mirrors of everyday events. She had only started to learn the secrets of the dreamworld when she was captured in Auberdine. The very first dream she had ever had as a Druid revealed nothing more than the location of a missing hairbrush – that was misplaced for over a hundred years. Subsequent dreams revealed nothing more than a snatch of memory or the fears of the people around her. That is to say, not very helpful at all.

When she didn't deny the accusation the Priest reached inside the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a piece of dinghy jewelry. "This is what you're asking after also?" He held it out for her see.

Her mouth dropped open. Yes, it was also what she was looking for. Carefully she met his gaze. Would he be mad? Would he ask why? She caught the coin-sized piece as it was tossed to her.

"Finders, keepers. I only had it because your dress was ruined. It fell out of your… bodice during ritual. I intended to give it back once there was a moment." Without company, that is.

"Um…" She placed the locket in her bodice where she had kept it the first time. "Did you give her the seed?"

"No. I was… too upset."

When no information as to its whereabouts was forthcoming she asked bluntly, "Where is it then?"

"… I lost it."

"You're a terrible liar, Priest!"

He winced, "It fell out of the bags when I was looking for the candles –"

"You never buy enough. Did you look in the Warlock's bag? She stocks a supply." His mouth popped open- She cut his obvious question off; "I have nothing better to do than listen when I spend most of my day inside a bag. You bless those candles and pass them out like candy at Hallow's End, or did you never notice that is why you run out so often?"

"No, no, I hadn't really noticed that."

She raised both eyebrows, "Of course not." Supposing blessing people came second nature to his kind; he'd never know how much of a gift those candles he gave away so freely were. A light in the dark during these trying times for a great many people.

"You didn't search for it?" She meant the seed.

He sighed, admitting fault, "I didn't think to look for it when I packed up. Corrosa usually does the packing, you see. I-," he winced, "usually _preen_ for the better part of the morning. You sleep in." By the way he said it, the word was obviously applied by someone other than himself.

"I'm nocturnal." What part of _Night_ Elf didn't he think meant she walked in the daylight by choice? "And I think _preening_ is an accurate word; no one's hair should be that immaculate in a place like this."

He managed to look bashful and prideful both at once; covered it with a cough into his fist. "The camp is just outside town. I haven't been back to search because…" … I was taking care of you. He coughed again in nervousness, "Off with you. Enjoy doing whatever it is you Druids do while hunting."

Threw bared teeth she growled, "Anything else, Master?"

That her insult seemed to sail threw one pointed ear and out the other irked her. He threw a bag to carry the food back in and waved good-bye. She turned and left as he half smiled- half grinned after her. There was merriment in his grace she had not seen since the victories of the Plaguelands. In these humble ruins, he was as content as a noble at the finest inn. How uncommon.

Down the short steps into the street she went, fixing the hearthstone onto the clasps of the belt sewed to the skirt. The intent was to stealth at the first chance, but behind her the door opened again.

"The hounds are nasty, try to avoid them." He was standing in the doorway like a worried parent.

"Yes, Father." She humored, headed in the direction of 'just outside town'.

"And there are some green plants that shoot needles. They wont hurt you, but they itch. Allot."

She gave a mock solute without turning around, "Yes, Father."

"And the bats; they spit poison."

"I can deal with poisons, Father."

"As I have seen." A touch of pride in his voice caused her to stop and look back a moment. He was leaning on the frame, arms and ankles crossed. She noticed his bare feed for some reason, and then the bareness of a man who was so often wearing a ring or bracelet or neckpiece.

An old Forsaken man was passing by, walking slowly with a cane that so obviously had been gnawed on it had teeth stuck to it. "They grow up so fast, don't they?" He asked of the Priest.

Jetadiah knodded.

"I'm not his daughter!" Kayas exclaimed in horror. When the pair just locked eyes in that way older males do sometimes she growled in frustration, shifted to her feline form and ran off to find something to kill.

Behind her the old man asked, "Stepdaughter?"

"Takes after her mother's side." The two men shared knowing nods.

Kayas needed to find something to kill or she was going to turn around and claw the words "we're not related" into that old man's forhead!

* Chivalry – The lengths by which a man will go to let a woman him know he is totally in love with the idea of doing what it takes to make her happy and comfortable. This is not an inherited trait in Azeroth, instead spreading more like a virus amongst the lower class; at once curable but never staying dormant for long.

** Otherwise known as a 'quest'.

*** Human (capitalized) is the race; human (lowercase) is the upright walking peeps with molars that think wielding weapons makes them top of the food chain but squeal like little boys when spiders run across their palm.


	24. Moonberries

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

This chapter crit me in half and left me bleeding inside.

It's short because I can't keep writing it.

I hope you all will forgive me.

~*~ Chapter 24 ~*~

She hates me. She really _hates_ me.

"Stop sulking, your gloom is spoiling the fruit." Serz was picking threw the vendors offerings. "Where did you say these were from?"

The vendor shrugged, "Heck if I remember."

Serz went back to smelling and poking the offerings. "Smell this." He held a fruit out to Caspin.

The tall elf bent over obediently and sniffed, "Smells fine. She hates me, right?"

"She doesn't appreciate being called an 'it'," the undead man replied sagely.

"I didn't know…" Caspin turned his toe in the ground. The vendor eyed him up and down. The imp sitting on his shoulder was all that stopped the woman from calling the Deathguards. Though she should remember him; most of the Forsaken in these parts knew him on sight by now.

Serz continued to pick threw the fruits, "Do you have anything from Ashenvale or Darkshore? Better yet, Teldrassil?"

The woman glowed at him and threw a basket at his head, "Do I look like a goblin? You have any idea what I have to go threw just to get pumpkins?"

"I'm guessing it's more what the farmers have to go threw to keep their pumpkins _from_ you." Caspin said dryly. Having grown up amongst these people he knew them very well.

A finger that used to have a nail on it stopped inches from his face, "That's right! And these farm hands can't fight for crap, but the Scarlet Crusade guards them. Lost me a boy once, I did. Not braving Sentinels to get you some moonberries."

"They're arnt for me." Caspin was still sniffing fruit, though he didn't know why. Forsaken have better noses than anything on Azeroth.

"Your girlfriend then? That's who you're talking about, right?"

Caspin blushed, "No, it's not like that! And _he_ wants them, not me!"

"Oh, well then. I got a crate or two in the back. Lemmy see…" The vendor shuffled off to find the promised fruit.

That she wasn't going to sell them to a kaldorie didn't surprise the elf at all. He was used to being ostracized wherever he went. His own kind wouldn't have him and he practically had to wear this imp as a necklace to get the Forsaken not to run him threw on sight.

Layla was very kind though, whispering nasty things about people into Caspin's ear who looked down on him, which brightened his outings.

"Just be nice to her. And she'll like you more if you'd talk to her and not _about_ her while she's around."

Caspin sighed. Night Elf women were crazy and he knew that to be fact. Most of the Sentinels were women and all of them had run him off in due time. It didn't help that he didn't understand their words in the initial interview, and that eventually there would come a change in the wind and they would notice how he reeked of the Forsaken. Then came the shurikens and battle songs and him running back to Serz like fel was on his heels.

He hated seeing the sorrow in the undead man every time it happened.

But the first time he saw _her_ it seemed like he'd seen someone who might be able to relate to him; perhaps another feral child. Then he'd seen the collar he knew that she was just like the rest of them. She was not an unfortunate refugee or someone the little country Priest had taken in, but an unwilling captive.

Eventually she would make a judgment about him and reject him as well. As she had done the moment he admitted to not understanding her language. She'd turned back to Serz and ignored him after that. Even though he'd seen it coming the rejection still hurt. It had distracted him too much he'd almost blow his hands off twice before he gave up trying to say or do something to get her to talk to him again. … to even notice him.

But it had broken his heart to hear her cry. His teacher, whom Serz had simply always called 'my Lord', just sat staring at the fire for the rest of the evening. A gesture Caspin knew well from growing up amongst a race haunted not just by their past, but their present and their future.

The vendor came back hauling two crates of berries. A mortal woman would not be able to carry the load, but the wonderful thing about being undead is that if you tore your arms off carrying something too heavy, you just had someone stitch new ones on. Serz had taken up tailoring for that very reason, though never becoming too skilled beyond reattaching fingers.

"This what you want?" There were blue lions painted on the sides of the crate. She pried the top off – and silvery moonlight flooded out, casting the shop in an ethereal glow.

Both Forsaken had their hands up to shield their eyes from the light. Caspin looked deep into it, feeling a stirring in his soul, a calling. He closed his eyes and looked away. Fruit and fabric and the occasional piece of armor changing hands at a merchant's stall were as close as he would ever come to the Night Elves.

"Yes, that's it exactly!" His guardian was almost leaping with excitement, "How much?"

When the seller listed the price, Caspin's jaw almost hit the floor.

"Ah, discounted I see." The Forsaken man was much pleased, "Such a lovely and fair lady." He actually kissed the seller's hand. The woman raised an eyebrow in annoyance, but when Caspin and Serz were hauling away the crates the elf glanced back and saw her touching the back of her hand, a slight smile on her lips.

_It has been so long…_ He could almost hear her thinking.


	25. Hunting in Tirisfal

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

Anyone else things that Tirisfal sounds like "tears fall"? I had assumed that they named the place after the mourning that went on there after the Scourge came threw.

Fun fact of the day: Not only is there an actual Tirisfal Glades, but there are at least four Brightwater Lakes (and one sinkhole) around the world.

Lastly: I've started marking the end chapter nodes with numbers to make locating them easier.

I now return you back to your regularly scheduled fanfiction!

~*~ Chapter 23 ~*~

She should have known the Priest wouldn't make it that easy to escape. First thing she had done was trying to hearth home. Every time the cast was winding up a shock from the collar went strait to her core and blocked her power. Her portal to the Moonglade would not be summoned either.

She was sick of the rules always changing; he kept tinkering with the contraption around her neck, improving on the older model, while she slept or was out cold. Stupid engineers.

The clearing they had been camped in was overrun with plaguehounds. Others had also come threw and made off with anything left behind. The frightening thing was the ring surrounded by burnt out candles where the ground was so desecrated even the blighted hounds avoided it. She had shuttered and left, not bothering with searching.

The hunting was going well. The plagued hounds that he spoke of were not so hard to kill. The first few she attacked had been downed with a few shreds of her claws before they knew it. The ferocity of the attacks, however, had turned the meat into mush almost, making gleaning of edible portions impossible (1).

She had gotten a lot stronger since she left Auberdine, perhaps as a result of the plague in her system? Toning down her attack power and speed seemed to do the trick. She got not just edible portions of meat, if not in need of a good Light bath to sanitize, but ragged bits of hide.

If there were glue in town, and the Priest still had her money, and if the Forsaken accepted Darnassian currencies, she could mold the scraps into workable leather. Briefly she wondered if their mailboxes here like the ones back home; small portals that would allow packages to travel threw the Twisted Nether to other mailboxes nearest their target(2).

One beast had split its side open in the attack and the contents of its stomach poured onto the ground. Amongst the content were glowing red bracers and the remains of a man's arm. The thick metal was not to her liking and so she stored them in the pack for latter. After that she split the stomach of every beast she killed, finding things of interest on occasion.

The blighted ground she walked over was so far gone it didn't even cry out to be saved. There was no confusion in the natural spirits of this land: the ones who were not outright destroyed had packed up or went to sleep long ago. The trees were in perma-hybernation it seemed, waiting the day when someone would burn away the coat of plague encasing them and the darkened skies would clear to let the sun shine threw.

There was a lake she kept away from. Mindless undead roamed its shores. Though they paid her no heed, they still could be dangerous in large numbers. The bats she had seen in the distance were her goal. Bat leather was good quality stuff. Also she had never tasted the meat and wouldn't mind trying it.

The closer she got the bigger they got; huge things with enormous fangs and black drool seeping from their mouths. They were so insane that all they did was fly around in circles halfway up the tree line, though too far up to leap and grab.

The solution was simple it seemed: a good running start up the trunk of the nearest tree, a turn of the waist and a leap-

The shriek that emanated form the vermin almost knocked her senseless. Claws dug into the wings and next thing she knew they were spiraling to the ground with alarming speed. Digging in she shredded the membrane as much as possible before kicking off it's side and clinging to a tree just twenty feet from the ground.

A second latter the bat landed with a considerable thud. Kicking off again, she landed on it's back, grabbed it's neck and shook. The head popped clean off its body. Surprised, she stood there feeling a bit foolish for all the force she put into the move.

Spitting it out she made quick work of carving the beast up. Such work goes faster when you wield five razors in each hand. The wing membrane would not be salvageable, but the wings themselves were de-boned and went into the sack. The rest of the animal was deemed too tough to make good food and so came the eventual splitting of the stomach.

When yet another arm tumbled out, this time with a little copper ring on the hand, she began to wonder where all these living humans were. These remains were obviously not undead at the time of their consumption. From what she had seen and overheard the vendors would pay good money for these scavenged body parts, but she just couldn't bring herself to stoop to that kind of recycling. Especially when she didn't have the former owner's permission or even know how to find them.

She called upon her natural powers and sunk the arm into the earth where it would be allowed to decompose naturally. Secretly she was delighted; she hadn't the mental capacity to work the spell before.

Her tree climbing and bat snatching acrobatics were repeated till she had a good supply of wings and tattered leathers. The feel of running threw the forests, though dead and decrepit, brought back the _wild_ part of her love of being a Druid. This is what she was good at; this is what she had to offer.

Around the other side of the lake she could see mists. Or rather it looked like mist. Upon closer inspection it turned out to be thin gossamer strands of silk and a lot of it. Twanging the silk with her paw she found it hummed. She shifted to her elfin form and twanged it again, humming along.

Soon she found another strand within reach and twanged it. The hum was different: another strand and another note. Soon she was spinning round and round thumbing the strings and playing a melody she had been taught a long time ago. Though she had some skill with a dulcimer her calling was not to music. She still played out of enjoyment of the instrument and new many songs.

Something heavy landed on her back – lots of points of contact. She crumbled, twisted, and instinctively fired a shot of arcane energy at it, exploding it into a mist of green blood. Sitting up, she blinked threw the gore now covering her dress. "Great!" Her voice echoed into the trees. Can I not go a day without being covered in something nasty?

The trees answered: hundreds of voices came twisting out of the branches, down the webs. Spiders of every size, bleached white as bone, descended. Though not a one of them could take her alone, a hundred or more could pump enough venom into her system to do the job.

"Cenarius, Elune, Ysera, Malorn, a Druid in need calls upon your aid. Hear me!" The rolling beauty of the Darnassian language echoed in the valley and into the heavens. The light of the moon was nowhere to be seen, but power it contained sill answered her call.

Liquid drops of moonlight filtered down amongst the trees, drifting slowly. The first to land hit branches and sparkled before going out. The spiders, not understanding the danger they were in, advanced directly into the path. The sparks gently landed on their backs and legs. The Druid closed her eyes not wanting to see the result. Though there was great pity in her heart for the corruption of the wildlife here, there was no need to watch as the shower of moonlight kills them(3).

When she opened her eyes the multitude of spiders were on their backs dead as dead could exist in this land. Quickly, as more were advancing, she searched a few to see if there were any salvageable parts. Some of the good-sized ones not only had a bit of flaky white meat but also squirted out coils of the humming silk when they died. These she gathered up quickly, tucked into the bag and made off as the other spiders advanced. They were left behind, no match for the speed of her Dishu form.

The lake looked pretty appealing now. Weaving between some of the mindless undead, she took a great leap, shifted back to her elfin self, dropped the bag on the sand bar, and landing in the water. It wasn't exactly a proper bath but she could fix that.

Shifting into her aquatic form she swam a quick series of circles, adding the natural purifying energy to the strokes as she did. Soon a lightly glowing whirlpool was formed of purified water. In the center she changed to her elfin form again and allowed the jets of water to clean away the gunk and pollution.

Something grabbed her ankle and pulled her down out of the whirlpool.

'You stupid, stupid Druid! No wonder the masters don't think your ready for more training!' She chided herself harshly for not listening to her instincts in the first place. It wasn't hard to twist out of the underwater thing's dead grasp, but the fact that it got a hand on her to begin with irked her something fierce.

The purified pool stayed with her to the edge of the lake. Only then did she realize that all the undead in the area had sensed what she had done and were coming. Up and down the beach and out of the woods around came the moaning calls of the Scourge advancing.

Quickly she disbanded the glowing pool. As she was doing so faces broke threw the surface; rotting human faces. Wheeling back in surprise, she snatched up the bag, shifted and ran.

How many or how long the undead had been milling around the bottom of the lake she had no idea. The though that they would make their way into water sources was new, but quite obvious. She couldn't stop chiding herself. Of course they had! People would attempt to get away on boats; there had even been a broken down dock on one end of the remains of a half-submerged boat on the shoreline.

She shivered hard, not able to stop her compassionate mind from reliving someone's nightmare…

_Undead running threw the woods after them. They see the dock and the boat. There is nowhere else to go so they had climbed in and rowed out to the middle of the lake. Only too late did they realize the undead had followed them and were under the water now, waiting to snatch them if they tried to swim to shore. It would only be a matter of time before their vigil was wasted though. Eventually they became too weak to keep the boat in the middle of the lake. Either the undead bloated, floated to the surface and overturned the boat, or the boat drifted too close to the shore and got overturned from underneath. More lives stolen by the Scourge to bolster the army's of the Litch King. _

It wasn't till she was out of breath did she stop running. Panting she quickly scaled a tree in which to rest. Closing her eyes a moment she heard the sounds of movement beneath: wolves and lots of them. They had followed her scent form somewhere and were looking for her now.

Wolves? Wolves she knew well. A few minutes of rest were all she needed. Springing from the tree, she landed on two at once and took them out with nary a flick of claw along the jugular. They fled in panic, though the trail of blood would be easy to track back to the body latter.

She spun to send the rest of the wolves to the afterlife as well. From one to the next she went, barely killing each before another came with snapping jaws coating with spittle and sickness. When a dozen or more had fallen and the rest had fled, she quickly tracked the blood back to their sources and found her first two victims.

Making quick works of their edible meat, firs and stomach contents, she was disappointed to not find anything interesting inside. Shrugging it off she packed the last of her find into the bulging bag. She couldn't remember what all she had found, but the sack was heavy now. As she had when she first shifted into her feline form what seemed like ages ago, she thanked Cenarius he had taught his disciple how do so and keep packages and clothing as well.

It took a moment of getting her bearings strait for her to realize she was quite a way from the town. She was looking forward to getting back to the Priest; he would be able to remove the contagion from the food so that it was edible. The breakfast she planned to enjoy that morning was half the sack, and then some!

Pleased with her work, she headed back to the village.

"I think you enjoyed that a little too much."

She froze, knowing exactly whom that oddly echoing metallic voice belonged too. As soon as she located the source, a tree to her left, she darted right – and skidded to a halt when the Dark Lady appeared right in front of her.

The Banshee Queens lips parted in a toothy grin, her sharp canines gleaming, "I move a lot faster than you can, my dear Forsaken Druid."

~* End Notes *~

(1) This is my explanation of how you can kill 10 pre-Cata animals from the Barrens before you finally get one that drops any meat, tails, 'perfect/pristine anything', blood, hoofs, heads, feathers, feet, beaks, claws or eggs.

(2) Or, as McCaffrey calls it: going _between_. Or as Bishop calls it: _vanishing_ something.

(3) AKA Starfall. If a Priestess can do it, so can a feral druid. Thank you Blizz for giving me loopholes to work with!

Lastly – Official artwork shows that Night Elves and High Elves have or had elongated canines. I left them in for all elves because there is something very primal about seeing a picture of 'innocent' Tyrande with feral canines.


	26. The Druid Forsaken

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

I have a folder specifically set aside for this chapter that includes all 4 drafts, the character write ups and the multiple outlines and notepads brimming with the details I'm going to have to work into latter chapters for the sake of trimming length. The original chapter was 12 pages long – edited.

The Banshee Queen is a patient woman and can, of all the faction leaders, honestly say she doesn't care where her subjects originated – anyone is fair game as long as they can be used to further her objectives.

~*~ Chapter 25 ~*~

Kayas turned and tried to run again, only to have the Dark Lady appear before her once more. "Don't care to spend some time with your Queen?" There was laughter on the wind that came from anywhere but the perfectly slicked mouth.

Kayas shifted, shot upright, "I am kaldorie; you are not my Queen." The conviction didn't sound nearly as absolute as she wished. Was she still a Night Elf after what the plague had done to her?

The Dark Lady had come prepared for an argument. What she wanted with a Druid, Kayas had no idea, though her claim to the smaller elf standing before her was solidified shortly. "You may thank the High Priest for saving your life, and curse him thrice over for not letting you die. There is enough plague in you to corrupt the very ground you walk on, were it not already blighted."

The Druid was horrified, remembering how the sleeping seed of grass had sprung up where she trod over them in the Ghostlands. She had seen the sweeping forests of Qual'thalas, both at the prime of health and the weakest throws of death. To think that anywhere she treaded would succumb to the same….

The Banshee Queen had come ready for a demonstration as well. She clenched fist and raised and made a swift hand gesture downward- causing every muscle in the little Druid's body to stiffen in response. As if obeying an unspoken command, her body drug itself to the ground in a kneeling position, head bowed.

"You see," the Dark Lady smiled, "Any Forsaken I beget belong to me, and that includes his _precious_ Corrosa. I entered your veins before you hit the surface, allowing the plague quick access to your bloodstream. My efforts paid off; the Priest could not save you in time to stop the transformation making you one of mine."

From her position on the ground the Druid strained against the invisible chains, tears seeping from eyes silted with effort, "_I_ did not invade your city," she wailed, "I did nothing to incur your anger!"

A huffed, scornful sound was the undead Queen's response, "Don't be so pretensions; you must understand this has nothing to do with you. I have a great many in my employ, the High Priest chief among them."

Kayas understood then. The Banshee Queen had cursed her with this half-life to punish the Priest. He was not her subject and so she could command him directly, and so she had lashed out at what he held dear to force his compliance. Corrosa, from his own admittance also too important to harm, had been made to heel as she was now while the Dark Lady carved her mark on the Priest's pet.

But the kaldorie would not give up so easily, "I am not yours; I am not Forsaken. I am kaldorie and my heart belongs to Teldrassil."

"Your heart will belong to a box I mail back to your doting mother if you truly wish to test me, whelp. And I will follow it to whatever backwood village you crawled out of and collect ever heart there and send them all to Teldrassil if that is truly where you think they belong."

There was no mistaking the truth of ever world or the abilities of the Dark Lady to track the package threw the Twisted Nether to her home village. … to her family. Tears stung her eyes, she sobbed into the ground, defeated.

The Dark Lady lowered her hand and released her hold. Kayas crumpled to the ground, panting with the sudden release of the ropes. She was ordered to her feet, taken by a wrist and pressed into a tree. The back of one sword's sharpened tip came to rest in the hollow of her navel.

"The next time I see you it had better be the top of your head as you kneel that greets me, otherwise I will slit you," the tip of the sword swung upward, a hair's breath away from the shivering skin, "from naval to nose." The point stopped right between the little Druids luminous yellow eyes. "Make no mistake, if you continue or at any point in the future, reject my sovereignty then I promise these events will come to pass. Am I understood?"

Kayas nodded quickly, frightened tears still spilling form large eyes.

"Yes, what?"

"M-m-my Lady?"

The Banshee Queen smiled, "Good Druid; woof."

There would never need to be a single additional world of explanation: Kayas knew exactly why Jetadiah went out of his way to keep Corrosa out of this woman's hands. "M-my Lady?"

"Yes?" The sword was sheathed and her cloak drawn closer against the wind.

"The Priest, you see, is concerned…"

The hood upon her brow bobbed slightly as the Dark Lady knodded, "Ah, yes. Always so concerned for that one, he is. Drives every move he has made since my people first entered into war with the Scourge." There was a moment of memory that made the Forsaken Queen look almost like a person, then it was dissuaded, "She's in my keeping until her wounds are healed."

Kayas brow furrowed. Yes… she needs a healer. And obviously Jetadiah is not good enough… "What?"

A hard gray palm slammed her into the tree, firmly knocking the air from her lungs and stayed pressed between the hollow of her breast, "He hurt her… for you. _He hurt her for you!"_ The Dark Lady reared back and slapped her hard enough to jar every bone in her body as well as send her tumbling away. A feral snarl overtook her ashen face as the Banshee Queen tried not to assault and kill her newest subject.

Kayas cowered, covering her head with her arms, glad at once that there was little sensation left in her skin though her flesh could feel the pain, "I'm sorry! Please-!" 'What did I do? I did not make him do it!' Panic zinged threw her. She shifted to her Dishu form and tried to run.

The Dark Lady laughed, both hands in the air this time, whispering ancient words of the kaldorie tongue. Only just in time to shift out of her swiftest form did she realize what it was. She felt a fool and knelt once more to hear the woman advance on her. The fallen High Elf had been a Ranger in life after all, easily able to control the animals around her.

But the Dark Lady had stopped and was silent. A long moment passed with no more sound than the scrunch of good leather as the undead woman knelt down.

The little Druid chanced a look… and found the Forsaken Queen, brows furrowed in grief, holding the tarnished necklace that had tumbled from her victim's bodice. Despite the gloom of the surroundings, the beautifully wrought piece refused to succumb. On one side a single cut emerald and on the reverse an inscription in the scrolling High Elfin script that read:

"To Sylvanas. Love always, _Alleria_." The Banshee Queen read the name as if her breath had been stolen from her lungs and never would return again. "Can it be? After all this time, I though it was lost forever!" Another moment of silence-

The hand closed over the locket, the Dark Lady's head snapped up, eyes blazing anger for the Druid. She stood and advanced – and Kayas scrambled to flee once more. "Oof." She slammed into the Dark Lady; having forgotten the woman had speed to put cheetahs to shame.

A cold hand clamped on her wrist and she was flung harshly to the ground. Staying down once more, she hoped a cowed position would lesson the Queen's rage.

"You think this is amusing? Where did you get this?"

"A ghoul," Kayas cried out, " a-a ghoul in the Ghost-"

The metal-clad boot clamped down on a wrist, pressing hard enough to make her lamb cry out. "You dare call my homelands by so foul a name as that?"

The little Druid was terrified, fearing at any second the Dark Lady would visit upon her the same pain as before. This time there would be no relief till she was truly dead. And when she was truly dead she would rise again as a mindless abomination of her former self. "_Please_." She begged, praying for an ounce of mercy from the enraged Queen. "Qu- Qual'thalas. A ghoul in Qual'thalas!"

"And pray tell what were you doing in Qual'thalas? Zul'aman dose not need a youngling who barely grasps the knowledge of a proper Druid." When there was no answer forthcoming from the shaking, sobbing elf at her feet she took the Druid by the neck, as she had done to the feline version, and held her upright till she stood on shaking bare feet. The grip readjusted around her throat, lose enough to allow speech, strong enough to leave a bruise. "Speak or by the Sunwell and all I hold sacred, you will never speak again!"

The cold metallic words sent shivers to the Druid's core. "W-we were passing threw. W-we was waiting for C-c- the Warlock; she was getting s-shards. I was killing the ghouls."

"Do you know what this says," the gray hand opened in front of her eyes and the scrolling script saw daylight.

Kayas looked at it then back to the Dark Lady, "I-it says Alleria-" The hand around her neck tightened, causing worse panic, "She's a hero of the Alliance! That's all I know-" lie #1 "-there is a statue in Stormwind more grand than the king's even. I was keeping it till I could find someone to give it to." Lie #2. "I don't know it was yours; I only know that name because it's written on the statue…" Lie #3 and 4. Kayas was in fact able to decipher enough of the High Elfin script to read it roughly. What else had she to do in a land full of their ruins and time to kill between lessons and hunting?

"She was my sister." The Dark Lady released her almost gently, still gazing at the pendent. The malefic glow of her eyes softening till the white ghost light of her banshee soul shown as bright.

Kayas hoped she did a decent job of feigned surprise, almost wishing that her own long ears could wilt as the Priest's did when he was off-guard. "If it was meant for you, then it is yours to keep." 'Please be nice to me, I brought your missing sister's necklace….'

The face that had been moved to grief a few moments ago once again hardened. "You think I long for a time before I was Queen of the Foraken?" The fist closed over the necklace once more and, with a swift turn of the waist, the golden locket went sailing threw the trees. "Allerian Windrunner is a long dead memory.*" Two plaguehounds followed the shimmer into the bushes, no doubt to fight over who gets to eat the shiney.

The Druid was released, and slid to the ground as a sigh shivered from hollow lungs. A hand went to rub the bruises left on her throat, noting at once how chilly her skin was and how hard her heart was beating.

"The Priest may let you run amuck thinking you might do an ounce of good, but I am not one for letting others waste energy being useless when there are useful things they might be doing – for me." She knelt down, back strait, still managing to tower over the smaller, younger elf. "You may kill as many plague hounds, bats, spiders and ghouls as you wish but the effort is useless. The plague draws them back up again after only a short while. Our wounds heal themselves in time."

The question 'then why don't you make an effort to find a cure for the plague instead of creating new strains?' almost escaped, but would have been the last thing she said. Instead she grinned slightly, "There are some things that can suck the life out of death."

"Oh?" the world was as much a normal tone of voice and sounding syllable as any Kayas had heard the Dark Lady speak.

"I don't think the plague at it's strongest could contend with Jetadiah and Corrosa at their weakest."

The Dark Lady scoffed, "Perhaps when you are able to control whatever it is that makes you Druids so hard to keep secrets from, you shall understand the full falsehood of that statement. They do not possess the cure."

"No," Kayas said, a feral smile on her lips, "They _are_ the cure. Regenerate all you want, there's no coming back from a forty ton tree growing out of your face." She looked up to see the Queen tilt her head to the side, gloomy sunlight catching the color of her hair and bleaching it while.

The ashen face grew slack in surprise, the light purple markings showing for the first time, "By the Sunwell! They planted the trees? The dorie trees near the Inner Elfgates?" After a moment the former High Elf regained her composure and schooled her expressions.

"What? No!" Kayas got to her feet rather fast, now the one towering over the Dark Lady, who looked up at her from a slanted angle under the rim of her decorative hood. "I made the trees. Well, rather, I blessed the seeds. Well-I mean… the Priest and the Walrock… they were fighting and there was the ball of energy and when they wernt looking I found some seeds and then I planted them in some dead High Elves whince and… they grew."

The Dark Lady rolled her eyes, "By that I take it you mean to say," she cleared her throat and adopted a softer voice, like rolling thunder, " ' I'm a Druid and I bless and plant maaaagical seeds, because no one will suspect it was a Dru-"

The look the Dark Lady was giving the Druid as she shot swiftly to her feet drained all confidence from the other elf. Hopes that the woman would not hurt her as thanks for the trees swiftly took flight and soared away.

"It was you." The Forsaken woman accused, "You healed the sentinels? The poisons; you cured them?"

'I'm a dead Druid. Elune, here I come!' "Y-yes." Before the Dark Lady could strike her down she would give explanation. "They're my people; I could leave them to die! I _had_ to help." Dropping to her knees, she offered both hands up in supplication, begging for mercy.

The Dark Lady just stood there staring at her: "By all the Gods on High…"

The little Druid waited for the blows to descend. When none were forthcoming she risked a glance up. Something bright hung right before her eyes that caused her to blink. She gasped to recognize the Moonwell water. She looked at the Dark Lady, not bothering to hide the fever in her eyes.

"Take it." When the Druid gingerly took the precious vial and clasped it around her collar once more the Dark Lady said, "Corrosa has explained how you need it more than I do and so I am inclined to see it returned to you."

The Druid honestly doubted she would be returning the vial if either one of the Forsaken women knew how she were capable of wielding it. If she were an evil being as her qual'dorie cousins were she would have done with the Priest and be on her merry way with the power in this vial. "Thank you, my Lady." The words were honest as the bow that followed.

The Dark Lady spoke softly now, as if to a confidant or friend, "That is payment for what you did in Qual'thalas. If you can do it again, I will make of you a Nigh Elf unrivaled in power and wealth."

"I… I am sorry, but I cannot. There are-there are no more seeds; the conditions under which they were created cannot be duplicated." In truth, she would not give the Queen more reasons to torment the Priest. Not because he deserved any loyalty but because, like him, she valued life and did not wish to cause others harm. He had been in such a personal hell at the time.

"What conditions might that be?" The military genius that was the former Ranger General's greatest asset came forth at once; "I have resources at my command you cannot imagine. Whatever the conditions were, I can recreate them. Or find someone who can."

The Druid was stumped. Tell her or no? "It's a Druid thing…?"

The Dark Lady gave a wicked grin, "Find someone it is!" She pointed a long and perfectly manicured purple stained nail at the Druid, "You, my precious Druid, are to go to Thunder Bluff and speak to Hanumal Runetotem. He is the strongest Druid on Azeroth** right now and can assist you with anything pertaining to natural magic."

"What? I can't go to Thunder Bluff; the Taurens will kill me on sight! And… and… besides that, the Priest wont leave without his _precious_ Warlock!" 'See, I'm mocking him like you do! Lets be friends?'

"Yes, I suppose that is a problem." Reaching down, the Dark Lady snatched the stone from the Druid's belt. There was a glow of light between her palms that matched a glow taken over her eyes. Tossing the hearthstone back to the Druid, she spoke again, "This should make them listen to what you have to say. As for Jetadiah, Corrosa is still under care. She will be along as soon as the damage he caused is healed."

The words were strange, alien… guttural. And yet the Druid understood them perfectly, "Orcish?" How badly had he hurt the Warlock, Kayas wondered. And why did she get the feeling the damage was more than physical?

The Dark Lady smiled again, "You know how it works with languages I assume? Your stone will be able to translate for you as long as the other carries a stone also. Only leaders are granted this ability; on pain of death others are not allowed to do it and never_ lightly_. Though I am not of the qual'dorie anymore, they are my people. I died defending Qual'thalas, and by all the Sunwell I will yet live to see it restored!"

The Dark Lady lifted up the Druid's full bag and flung it at her, face growing impassive again, "Be gone!"

Kayas shifted into her Dishu form and ran like hell was on her heels.

~*~End Notes~*~

* Quest: "The Lady's Necklace" This is my take on the Alliance version, if there was such. Players with the necklace who passed in front of UC (between UC and the Zeplin towers) would have Sylvanas come out and take the necklace from the player. A cut scene would play showing Alleria leaving Sylvanas behind as she went threw the Dark Portal. Sylvanas would then fling the necklace into the trees and /emote "forgetting that [player] is nearby as she turns back to her undead city." A few moments latter she would reappear and head off (running) in search of the necklace. Only the person performing the quest would be able to see her, and she would not be attackable.

** The strongest Druid is actually Malfurion Stormrage, though he lay in the Emerald Dream, so his essence is therefore not technically 'on Azeroth' anymore.


	27. More for Me

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

You ever get a chapter where you know what is suppose to happen but the damn thing just doesn't want to be written? This chapter is that way; more chatty and less yell-y than I intended.

~*~ Chapter 26 ~*~

Kayas swept threw the door, threw the bag at the meditating Priest's feet and went back to the bedroom. The confrontation with the Queen of the Forsaken had worn her down on many levels she needed to break for a bit. The looks and whispers from every Forsaken she passed on the way back to town had frayed her nerves a bit. Yes, she was shaggy and gray and bony with ugly green streaks in her fur, and yellow eyes sunk into her skull… but did everyone have to point. It. Out?

The large, black Mr. Meows was on her bed already, awaiting her return. He purred in greeting, flexing one paw against the sheets as a kneading kitten does. Kayas shifted to her feline form and leap upon the bed, curled up and shuttered for a few moments. The other feline eagerly began licking her back and neck, cleaning away the traces dirt and grime from her fur.

There came a soft tap on the door, "Care to talk about it?" the Priest asked. The politeness was window dressing; it was his dwelling and he may go anywhere in it he wished.

Kayas growled hoping to scare him away again, but this time it failed. The door opened and the Priest invited himself in. He waiting for her to turn and face him over one shoulder and tried not to look too deeply into her eyes.

Shifting into her elfin form she spat out, "I'm Horde now apparently. What do I have to do to get in on this 're-education'? Maybe if I convince myself the sin'dorie are actually the victims I wont feel so bad about betraying my people to help that… that… _thing._"

"Sylvanas can take a leap off the Thandol Span for all I care." There was a careful carelessness in the tone, "She has my Warlock; she doesn't get my Druid as well." He made to sit at the bed, touching her chin lightly with his fingertips so she would raise her head.

The though of resisting occurred, but were as swept away as hope of returning home. That he didn't try to defend his people and had betrayed his dislike of the Banshee Queen to her were as surprising as the burn of his fingers over her bruises. Plague-tainted flesh did not like being touched by the Light.

"She threatened my village if I don't find a way to create more of the dorie trees."

The Priest anticipated this, lowered her chin and gazed into her eyes, "Sylvanas doesn't own you; I do. Whereas she would take at least a week to track down which village you came from, I already know. She would spend another week carefully detailing the strategy of how to take the town with minimal losses to her troops; I already know. And she may be fel-bound and scary to look at with the angry red eyes, but it's the pretty ones you need to look out for amongst the quel and sin'dorie."

"Yes, let me back it into a corner and then piss it off…" After a moment she realize exactly what he just admitted*. 'Subtle, Priest… very subtle.' The look of his innocent face indicated his pleasure in her understanding.

"Can I ask you a question?" Weighing the possible questions she would ask, he nodded after a moment. "What were you doing in Ashenvale when you took me? And when do I get to go home?"

"That is two questions…" He sighted, having known this was coming for quite some time. "And to answer them as best I can would take all day- and I have things to do," he rushed over her argument, "and so the short of it is that I wanted a specific Druid and so I went to Ashenvale. End of story. You can go home if and when I run out of uses for you."

She was disgusted; "You went all the way to Ashenvale from Silvermoon just to get me? Specifically me? Or did you merely kidnap the first Druid you saw?"

He laughed, smiling from ear to pointed ear, "Quite. And a lovely one to be certain; no one looks bad in leather." He winked; she flushed, turning away to hide her face behind the wild swell of hair.

In her mind there was nothing remotely attractive about death-shaded skin and frizzy black hair but… considering he keeps company with Forsaken, maybe that were the kind of thing that floated his boat.

The Priest frowned then, leaning close and looking at her cheek. Startled she pulled back, hand going to her cold face in an instant to heal it. Then she stopped, locking eyes with him in understanding.

His lament outside Zul'aman over not picking the right path soon enough to save the people he loved from the Scourge; Sylvanas angered at her healing the Sentinels; the comments Corrosa kept making about her being lousy at the feral arts- though she knew this to be out of meanness and not truth- and the planting of the dorie trees…

"To find a healing Druid? You think I'm to be a restorer?" Somewhere deep in her soul denial welled up. She knew her talents and they did not lie in standing back and channeling magic.

He held up his hands to stop her, "What you are to be is for you to decide. Know that some of us are just pawns in a larger game – but well-placed pawn have toppled kingdoms." These words were deliberate; his anger at the Banshee who had marked her was unmistakable.

"So what is to be done then? She said-"

"I know what she said." He was thinking for a moment, used to his companion knowing what this simple admission meant. Her puzzled look brought him back; he grinned sheepishly. "The collar, you see. It lets me know when you're in danger. I heard her speaking and listened to what she had to say."

Kayas had not known the collar could do that. So many tricks in such a small and thin thing, it really was getting annoying. "Thank you for coming to my rescue while she was smacking me around. Again."

The sheepish grin was back, "I was, just didn't get there before she was done. Hearthstone." He pulled the enchanted rock from his pocket, a fairly small and scarred one at that, and tossed it up a couple times. "She's going to be hard-pressed to explain to the Warchief why she programmed Orcish into a Night Elf's stone." Way too much pleasure glittering in his eyes. If Blood Elves could be Druids, this one would be as feral as her own heart.

The Priest stood and she noticed his bare feet again for some reason. "Come now. It's quite a heavy bag you brought back so lets see what you got me."

Kayas decided, as she followed the Priest out of the room, that this must be what it is like to be immortal. One simply let a great many things slide that bothered less long-lived people. Mr. Meows followed, yawning sleepily and curling up by the spindly fire.

For instance, she mused as she dumped the contents of the bag onto the table, he was at once loyal to Sylvanas as any Forsaken and yet there was the undeniable doubt that it was a loyalty of convenience. They were both pawns in the other's scheming and immortality meant it was going to be a long game. And lost pawns regenerated over time, came back from the dead, and rose to add another set of pieces to the board, vying for their own space and right's to exist.

"By the Light, what on Azeroth did you bring me?" The Priest was picking threw the bits of meat with a stick, steaks and chops and wings and non-edibles, trying to place them in piles. He was far too much of a Noble, despite his surroundings, to touch such slimy things, but the randomness had him far too interested.

Kayas shooed him away from the table, quickly and efficiently separating everything into their own piles. All the inedible things were lined up across the mantle of the fireplace to dry out. The Priest studied the object without touching them. The cloying scent of fresh and befouled meat filled the little house.

She pointed to each pile of meat and listed them off. His eyebrows went up as she them off, especially impressed with the bats though she didn't know why.

The Priest went to the broken windows and pulled the tattered curtains in place with an attempt to shield prying eyes as to what was going on inside the house. The Druid stood confused until he returned to the table. Taking what she knew as his healing stance, she watched in awe as he stretched out a hand over the meant, glowed brightly with Holy energy and drove out the blight from the bits of flesh. When the light faded, what had been gray and green hunks of meat were at once appetizing looking and quite edible pieces.

"Now," the Priest said, "Corrosa isn't here… so you get to cook it." He was smiling; she was scowling. The Warlock, for all her blasphemy and murderous presence, was one hell of a cook.

The Druid had been quite dismayed to find out the woman was good at anything else than being joyfully wicked. If one is evil, Kayas mused, it didn't make sense that they should also have domestic skills as well. Not that she had ever sampled the Warlock's food, but the comments of everyone who had were enough to convince Kayas of the superior skill. "I can't cook."

Now he frowned, "What kind of self-respecting woman can't-"

He shut his mouth and took a step back giving her a look like he just witnessed a Night Elf turn into a demon.

"I don't know how things work where you're from," she hissed, sitting down beside Mr. Meows, "But where I'm from the person who hunts it is not expected to cook it as well." She was pushing him, seeing what she could get away with. However high and mighty he was in his own lands, he had gone out of his way to seem as if he were insignificant and less in this place. Why is what she was interested in discovering. "Pull your weight."

Elegantly manicured eyebrows puckered as he looked at the meat in dismay. Then back at her. Then at the meat. Then at Mr. Meows. "But I can't cook…"

The pathetic look on his face almost convinced her to try but she turned away, arms crossed and quipped, "Then we have a problem, don't we?"

"I'm hungry…" By Elune, that voice could tempt the Scourge to set a feast!

"Correction," she grinned, taking pleasure in causing him this little bit of grief, "_you_ have a problem." Her feline self landed on the table inhaling the spider meat before he remembered she could eat it raw.

He tackled her off the table, fel bent that if he couldn't eat – neither would she!

~*~End Note~*~

*For those slow on the uptake, he admitted to having though up similar blackmail to prevent her either running away (if she ever got the chance) or betraying him to anyone who might remove the collar.


	28. The Scarlet Banter

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

I got a grand piece of writing advice from a friend: "If a scene ever seems to drag and you cant get it to flow properly, just make something explode. In stories, as in real life, stuff blowing up tends to be a nice 'reset' button the situation!"

I intend to use that advice in latter chapters, randomly and without warning.

I should have used it in this chapter near the end of the fourth page :P

~*~ Chapter 27 ~*~

Half the stack of spider meat was gone before he could react. Granted it had not been a big stack to begin with, it was meat he was quite fond of. The Druid didn't know that however.

They fought, Blood Elf and feline rolling across the floor in a mad chaos of whirling hair and lashing tale. She at least had sense not to shred him with her claws, though the temptation to mar him, as she had been marred was certainly there. His skin was baby soft and event though she was trying not to hurt him there were still many little red and white lines on his arms and calves before she got done.

Both of them were thinking the same thing, that the other was stronger than they looked: him for being a spell flinger whom her people looked down on, and she for being so small and weak from hunger. Her jaws were around one ankle before either of them noticed the scowling Forsaken Warlock in pristine robes standing over them with a _tap tap tap_ of his bony foot on the floor.

Serz leveled judgment faster than any Paladin. "Most unbecoming!" The Aura of Condemnation hit them faster than they could jump apart as well.

"Oh, thank the Light!" the Priest exclaimed in a begging position, "She can't cook. Tell me you can cook?"

"Were you going to make her cook for you by sitting on her?" Serz neatly side stepped a foot meant to trip him.

The scout was by the table looking over the meat, "Quite a selection here. Did you go to town as well?"

The Priest seemed genuinely affronted, "I have a Druid, why would I _buy_ meat?"

Kayas shifted to her elfin form the same time Caspin beat a hasty retreat from the table. It was her food and not shared goods. Something about his attitude irked the Druid and stopped whatever she'd been about to inform the arrogant Priest. It was insulting enough for him to think her an abomination, but quit another for him to shy away from anything she owned as well!

"From what I know," Serze explained, setting his packages down on a broken chair, "the kaldorie have a tradition that whoever does the hunting gets to relax while someone else does the cooking. Seeing as she is quite a skilled hunter I can imagine that it would have been rude if anyone had allowed her to stay in the kitchen to cook as well."

"_He_ gets it." Kayas pointed to the Warlock, who inclined his head humbly.

The Priest stood; "Where I'm from –"

"I'd think carefully before finishing that sentence, m' Lord."

The Priest realized the Druid was back in her feline form… and behind him. Caspin had backed himself into a corner. The Druid only needed one more reason to knock the eldest elf on his butt again and the scout wanted not to be in the way.

Serze broke the tension with a sweeping bow, "I'm not near as accomplished a cook as I've heard your Corrosa is, but I shall do what I can if you grant me the honor of serving you and your ward."

"She's my prisoner," the Priest corrected taking a seat by the fire near Mr. Meow, "not my protégé as young Caspin here is to you."

"Of course." The Warlock apologized with another sweeping bow, "Not nearly the same circumstances."

The circumstances were never elaborated upon. The Warlock asked/ordered Caspin to help him prepare the meal. Kayas watched with some bit of fascination as they turned what had a few hours ago been completely inedible meat into edible creations. The smell was heavenly and the way he went about the preparation reminded him very much of the way Corrosa did. Even the way he shook out the spices had her wrist-flick to it.

"I take it you've spent quite a bit of time around the other Warlock, then?" Kayas asked.

Serzed smiled, "Yes, Corrosa and I go back a fair few years. We were amongst those originally freed from the Lich King when the Banshee Queen broke away."

Kayas hadn't expected this. They had served under Sylvanas in death… under the Litch King together.

Caspin mouthed something to the Priest. Jetadiah rolled his eyes, a wide smirk matching the twinkle in his eyes. The two were in agreement over something, which was for certain. Caspin chuckled quietly and went back to tenderizing the next round of steaks to go on the fire.

Kayas, between watching what Serz was doing with the fire and the meat, stalked and pounced with Mr. Meow. Jetadiah ordered them outside at one point when both ran between his legs and nearly sent him flying into the wary scout. The house was rather small and despite this the grace of both parties alone prevented collision disasters.

Kayas opened the door and the large black panther went flying outside. Both nearly collided into the old Forsaken man who had spend the better half of the day walking by the house. No doubt he was headed to the zeplin tower that could be seen in the far, far distance. He waved and smiled, half rotted face the stuff of nightmares. The Druid shifted into a cat again and went racing after the other feline.

They raced together threw the muddy streets of this town called Brill. It had apparently been a large town* in its hay day, though most of it was in ruins now. A few lights could be seen flickering inside the dilapidated buildings. Occasionally someone would poke a head out of a building or hastily beat a retreat into the shadows.

It was odd to the Druid that no matter where threw the undead town she chased the other cat, it seemed as if the dead quiet followed _her_ around. Before she got to a corner she could hear the sound of a blacksmith's hammer or sound of chatter in a shop. As she neared, the sounds would all die. Then as she passed, they would resume again. It was a very creepy effect the Druid did not like. _Life_ followed her kind around, no death.

She cornered Mr. Meow in an alley and was about to move in for the win** when two Forsaken guards rounded the corner and stopped. Both females, they swayed with undead grace on legs that were missing all of their skin and most of the meat. The Druid, knowing she could best the civilians if it came to it, hadn't anticipated the town being patrolled by actual Deathguards from the Undercity.

The guards gazed at her a moment… and walked on. Kayas shifted into her upright form and was about to demand some explanation – she was _not_ Forsaken after all – when a cold hand clamped around the back of her neck.

"There has to be a better way of saying hello." She growled out. The guards continued to walk away.

She was roughly pushed down to her knees; she stayed down. Insolence would not win her any less time in this being's company.

The Banshee Queen released her, stepping back. "The Priest is upset and this bothers me. Not that I mind him hiding in my town, though if he bring the Alliance down on me – again – I'm going to be very angry."

"I fail to see what this has to do with me." Her voice shook, the dread in her stomach spreading to every limb and caused shivers in the cool of the shadows.

Mr. Meow, for his part, had taken to curling himself around the Forsaken Queens legs as if she were the kindest old lady in the world and would pull out a ball of yarn if he purred loud enough.

"I hate to point out the obvious," the Druid began, "but he is upset that you have his Warlock." Swift resolution was needed or more than a voice would going to be shaking.

"Yes, yes. Always about Corrosa with him." The Dark Lady was petting the large head of the purring panther absently, scratching around his ears and under his chin. "Do let him know she's ridding the Cathedral of some of its Scarlet zealots." The wicked edge of satisfaction in her voice, as if she were picturing the scene of this news delivery, were evident in the purring of the undead woman's voice.

"Ah... yes, ma'am." She cleared her throat, "He knows what a 'scarlet zealot' is, mayhap? Should I deliver an explanation as well?" _See, I can be helpful? Please don't hurt me- again_.

The Dark Lady laughed, a deep and full-throated laugh that proved both lungs were still in place and capable of moving air should she choose to make such a noise. The panther warbled in response, butted his head against her leg in demands of more pettings. A black-gloved hand founds its way under the chin once more.

"I forget for a moment," she murmured, though her voice was for the cat she petted and not the Druid she tormented, "that you are young in the ways of this world. The Scarlet Crusade is the biggest enemy my people face in Lordaeron. The entire kingdom belongs to me now, but for these pockets of humans who managed to survive the Plague and took up arms against the undead."

There was a short pause and the next set of words were directed at her, "That means you as well, little undead kitten. They will have your head for bearing the plague, though the Priest's gifts have salvaged a soul in that body of yours." She seemed to want to say more on that topic, but she let it drop as heavy as oily sand.

Instead she went on with the pervious line of inquiry, "I have tried to be their friend and send emissaries to explain that we are no longer of the Scourge. They have sent my emissaries back as sacks of dust. They attack my caravans, refuse to yield the precious few acres of land that can still be farmed here, slay my people at every opportunity and – what is worst of all – fight under a blood stained banner that is a mockery of what the formerly Human members of Lordaeran fought and died for to begin with."

Maybe it was spending too much time in this place… maybe it was the Priest or her dreams… maybe it was her nature as a Druid but… "They called this land home and they fought the Scourge to keep it. I do not blame them for not yielding to you." Her boldness would curry her no favor, but no favors did she want from this hateful dead Quel'dorie.

"I am not cruel; I _am_ thorough. Unlike the kaldorie, I have learned that if you cannot get everyone to fall in line on way, then you must use other methods. They have refused to yield in life, either to leave my lands or to join us in our quest to destroy the man who did this to all of us, and so I send them a gift of death." The Dark Lady's words were harsh and edged with a hint of pleasure. Yes, this woman liked having control over life and death and did not hesitate to exercise that control.

Kayas was shocked. "But these lands belong to them! The dead have no right to come back-" she cut off her own argument, seeing it was on the Queen of the Forsaken. "My people banished yours for blowing up half the world. What else was to be done? You want to blame Arthas for the Plague? Blame yourselves!" She was mad now, spitting tempter into the ground where she knelt by the iron-clad boot of the walking dead. If not for the giant cat the Dark Lady may have demanded recompense for her insolence, but as it was…

Mr. Meows propped himself up on his back legs and wrapped both arms around the Banshee Queen, head butting her even as she tried to push the heavier cat away. "Do not quote my own history to me, child. I was there, after all. Yes, the qual'dorie were reckless with their magic – but my people took measures to make sure the same thing did not happen to us." The former High Elf almost fell over trying to escape a tongue mean to lick her face, "Mel'odie, get down!"

Well, Kayas decided, watching from the corner of her eye as the dark cat and the Dark Lady interacted, this was certainly interesting… When the large cat was on his back in the dirt batting at a thickly booted leg, the undead Queen knelt down with exaggerated eye rolling and scratched his warm tummy. The sharpened metal tips of those wrought gauntlets would have shred anyone else.

The sermon went on as if she were not being bossed around by an overgrown housecat, "No one on this earth could have gotten past the Elfin Gates if we had not been so betrayed by Dar'khan Drathir." Her voice grew quiet and soft, "Lore hates himself for his part in that betrayal." Who 'Lore' is was never elaborated upon. "Now the Prince is gone threw the Dark Portal to find a cure for the addiction, for good they say, and Lore is left to baby-sit the throne in his absence.

But that is another thing. First I must rid Loarderon of the Scarlet Scourge, and then rid Northrend of Arthas. Then I will find a cure for the Plague, a cure for the Hunter and restore Quel'thalas. Only then can I … " … go home to rest.

A realization came over the Druid just then; a startling revelation that shifted everything into a sort of tragic melody of perspective. … The Dark Lady _cared_ about her people, forever was stuck in a past where it had her job to keep Qual'thalas safe. Everything the fallen High Elf did and everything she had been revolved around protecting her people from destruction… but when she failed she had not been granted death. Brought back as a Banshee to serve the man who had destroyed her homeland and decimated her people… she would forever be trying to fix whatever mistake had cost them everything.

She blamed herself for the fall of Qual'thalas, the destruction of the Sunwell, the devastation of her people and the corruption of the land. And now that she had a chance to set things right – no matter how twisted her version of right was – the Queen she became, for _all_ those who were victims of the Plague, was going to see them into the future. No matter what the cost.

~*~End Notes~*~

*According to Wowiki, Brill had been a small town but I think this is probably a mistake. Consider that Lordaeron consisted of Tirisfal Glade, Eastern and Western Plaguelands, Silverpine Forests, Hillsbrad Foothills, part of the Alterac Mountains, the Hinterlands and Qual'thalas… no way the nearest town to the seat of all that power is going to be 'small'.

** Sorry, had to work that phrase in somewhere – it's a Warcraft, after all – the win is everything

*** Before Forsaken could be Hunters, remember


	29. The Shadow Child

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

Beware, impending dream sequence.

~*~ Chapter 28 ~*~

"This may sound odd," the Druid replied quietly, "but I think I understand."

The Dark Lady smiled, "Of course you do. You're a disciple of Cenarius, after all. The Druids of Thunder Bluff are particularly sensitive to the plight of the Forsaken." The panther had propped himself up on the Dark Lady's back where she knelt and was trying to drag/fight her into the dirt. "What did you do to rile him up so much? He was never so … hyper."

When the Druid didn't answer, the Banshee Queen looked up at her, "Speak freely."

"I… um… perhaps it's because I'm alive?" She winced, understanding how bad that sounded. The Dark Lady had a quick fuse.

"Mhm. A plaything."

Weather this was an insult or not the Druid let it go. Not as if she could have recourse. "I can pass your message on." … if you let me go. I'll even do it right now!

"Do that." Mr. Meows turned and mewled at her as she shifted into her Dishu form and proceeded to run away as quickly as she could. "You too, Mel'odie. Go on now. He'll wonder what became of you."

Torn between the hands petting him and the feline companion who was moving away, the large cat paused only a moment to flick his tail in irritation. Heaving himself from the ground he ran after her, leaving the Dark Lady alone in the shadows.

A few min latter she burst threw the door into the old house and went to hide in her room. The feel of the cold hand on the back of her neck had her shaking from head to foot. The panther was right behind her, hissing at the Priest when he tried to follow her, and parked himself in front of the door so no one could get in.

There came a tapping on the walls… "Care to talk about it?"

Kayas snapped up out of the bed and flew out of the room, charging at the Priest. He backed almost into the fireplace to keep an inch of space between he and her. "NO!" she yelled at him, "I do _not_ want to talk about it! I want you to remove your contraption from my neck so I can go home, where I _belong!_ And not here where that _woman_ keeps coming to torment me every time I set foot outside this house!"

Serz was rooted to his seat, quit surprised by this outburst. The Scout had leapt into the rafters and stealthed himself there. Proving that even if he wasn't raised amongst the kaldorie, the calling to the night and shadows was instinctive.

Something came over the Priest then. He drew himself up, seeming to swell with some inner self-righteousness. It would have been impressive even more so had he been wearing anything but some linen breeches and a loose shirt. "I'll have you know –"

"The Banshee Queen sent your Warlock to the Cathedral. Apparently the Scarlet Zealots drew the short stick of who gets to be slaughtered by an insane Scourged woman this day."

So many reactions ran threw the Priests' body language. Torn between rebuking her for insolence and going for his Warlock, the Warlock won. What she didn't expect also was how he roughly shoved her aside and ran from the house. She hit the wall softly and bounced into the floor.

"That was uncalled for."

She glanced up. The scout in the rafters was glaring down at her. "Don't you dare speak to me. You're hear by choice; I am not."

But the scout leapt from the rafters and into the chair he had been occupying. He walked directly up to her, face to face and poked a long finger at her chest. "That was not nice, what you said about Corrosa."

Refusing to argue with some ignorant Horde, she shifted into her feline form and went back to the bedroom. Mr. Meows continued to block any progression down the hall for anyone who was not also a cat.

It was Serz who calmed the scout and sat him back down to his task – some trinket he was wiring under the Priest's guidance. "Leave her be. She has reason to be upset with the Forsaken right now."

"And I do not?"

"You have had the time that she has not. Leave it alone."

The house grew quite but for the crackling of the fire and the occasional explosion from the trinket. Serze laughed and sang some half-familiar tune to his imp as they played tick-tack-toe in the soot by the fireplace. For her part the imp was much better at the game than her master, but let him win once just to be nice.

Kayas fell asleep on the bed after fiddling with the collar and getting shocked by it several times. She was convinced that if she could fine the latch or whatever that she would be able to get it off. The great feline behind her kept yawning and the contagious nature of such a gesture won out in time…

~*~Segue~*~

Kayas dreamed.

The desert that stretched out before her engulfed the entire world - her world, at least. Beyond the mountains, so far away they weren't even a shadow on the horizon, were the fertile lands of other nations. But here was only red sand and nothing grew here.

A Shadow Sister stood on the edge of the cliff town and stared out into the seat of baked sand. Her skin was almost black for being such a deep shade of purple, and shimmering darkly with the magic of her Order. The cloak, black and brown in faded stripes, hid everything but the face, whispers of red-brown hair and the brown eyes. Everything about the woman was kaldorie, down to the long ears, except her plain brown eyes.

The little Druid was apprehensive. The Shadow Sisters were a dark order of Priestesses of Elune, skilled in the arts of death using shadow magic in the name of Elune's darker aspects. They managed to walk a fine line between demonic and Elune's grace without falling away to become a warlock as so many weaker minded Priestesses of other races did.

These Priestesses dark arts were not the only shadow to be seen. Far off in the distance was the shadow of something far greater, more sinister. But it was a dead shadow, a threat no more. The land around the Priestess and the little Druid was already reeling from suddenly being released from the grips of some monster and slowly the healing would begin.

Behind the Priestess a man spoke softly, "We could go home now." Many, many times had he asked her to leave with him, to go back to their birthplace and rebuild. Kayas could feel both of their emotions. He was tired of fighting and ready to retire… she was losing a battle within herself to let go of fighting. He came up to encircle her in his arms, one hand brushing under the cloak to graze over the swell of her belly. "You would bring life into a place full of nothing and more nothing." It was an accusation and a plea.

Her snort sent tendrils of shadows into the harsh daylight, blown away in the arid desert wind.

The man shook his head, great antlers swinging from side to side. The left antler was missing a tine. "It is over! The walls are destroyed, the Prince is dead and there is a new Scarab Lord." His voice turned to soft pleading, "It is over, my starry night, let us away and drink the wine of victory till the end of our days."

Her own dark hand came to rest on the swell under the cloak, not so big just yet but big enough to make a difference in her life now. "I have been here half my days, since I was a child at the knee. It is hard to believe that the fighting is come near it's end."

The little Druid could feel her confusion and her hunger. She was a woman who had had a mission in life. Now that the mission was done, what now? What purpose could she serve?

A kiss was planted on the back of her neck threw the cloak. His own moss-and-bark cloak matching hers in shades of brown. "What will you call this little one? Desert Dumpling?" There was warmth in his rich, sweet voice. The child and it's mother were all his world now that the kingdom of Ahn'Quiraj had fallen at last. Hundreds of years of war were coming to a close as the Cenarion Circle's greatest victory to date was being heralded around the known world.

Kayas knew they were heroes, nameless and faceless heroes of a war over since before she was a twinkle in her parent's eyes, yet _they_ did not feel it. For people who had spent so much of their existence fighting corruption in so many different guises, their world was about to change. Where did a hero go once the fighting was over? When the songs were sung, where would they be? When the children were grown and their children racing across the desert sands, oblivious to the dangers that once lurked in each shifting wind, where would they be?

"I am not made to sit and rock a suckling babe," The Priestess said, " Elune has made me of a different substance." And yet she had not gotten rid of the child, nor done anything to stop it from taking root in the first place. A part of her was still that Priestess of Elune's Light as she had been before the temples in what is now Desolace had fallen and she had though Elune abandoned her. Till visions had sent her to Silithus the war with the now-fallen Scarab Lord and she took up the Priestess' robes once more, though in a darker shade of white.

The Druid smiled and kissed her neck again, breathing in the scent of moon berries and sulfur water, "She has made you of the shadows, my starry night, but I was made for shadows. I can sit and rock a babe; that is all I want till the end of my days."

The Priestess was anxious, brow furrowed and brown eyes turning towards the harsh sunlight for a moment. She had been here from the beginning, putting so much into the war effort that it had become her babe, so much so that the one in her womb felt a stranger. A usurper. "And where would you have us go? I will see this ended, but when I do where will you have us live? I tell you again, I was not made to sit and rock."

"There are wars all over the world. Where you go, I will follow. Choose your enemy and they will be my enemy too." Kaldorie men were loyal to their families. Just the scent of a woman with child was enough to drive most of them into feverish acts of loyalty.

She smiled; two sharpened canines on each side caught the sunlight in a twinkle. This was how he had won her over.

A vision swam before Kayas, as if she were remembering these things herself: The Priestess and the Druid, with a hundred others, separated from the army that had stormed the ancient gates of Anh,qiraj by a surprise attack. One by one they had fallen but the Priestess and the Druid, commanders of the shadows, had melded away and in the end were the only ones left. Sullen and brooding the Priestess had expected to die there. Her companion however, had found them food and shelter away from the patrolling armies. He would steal out at night and bring her back all sorts of things if just to make her smile. No one could say his breed were not an optimistic lot.

It was two weeks before they had been found, the only survivors of that failed encounter. Nothing of all the little treasures he had found for her in the night meant half as much to either of them as the child who now grew in her womb.

"I have a friend in Andorhol," the man said, "He writes often of the Scourge problems they are having in the Eastern Kingdoms." The man reached under the cloak to stroke her belly again. "We'll make for Andorhol as soon as this is ended. There is plenty of fighting there to do and there will be other children for this little one to play with. Arthas has succeeded the throne of Lordaeron threw regicide and then turned it over to the Scourge. He marches east towards Andorhol, some say on his way to the kingdom of Quel'thalas. It is said that Lady Sylvannas is giving him as much trouble as a hawk gives a mountain lion that cannot fly and his progress is slowed to a craw while he goes off chasing her from one end of the land to the other."

The Priestess' thin laugh was tempered with resentment, "The quel'dorie have forsaken Elune and I have no love for them. Let this Arthas have them. Their vanity has killed the world a dozen times over. If the Burning Legion's weapons are still coming after them then so be it. They reap what they sewed at the Well of Eternity."

The arms encircling her hips released and the Druid stepped back. She turned to face him, this dark truth hanging between them. The Druid loved all life and the Shadow Sister worked only with death. So at odds with each other's natures and yet…

"I harbor no love of the arcane arts as well, but what was done ten thousand years ago is done. I do not want to see what will happen to the quel'dorie if this Death Knight prince gets his hands on the powers in the Sunwell. And for what purposes?"

Kayas could see his face as he asked this question. She could see it shift and bent. She could see the woman's face, the same shifting and the bending. The entire world was shifting and bending… no one was singing and yet the song was there…

"_Flee from here sweet child,_

_To be feral and be wild._

_Please don't misunderstand;_

_For they would all destroy you,_

_Who walk across your land."_

The dead desert, wind swept planes of sand and scalding hot sun faded. In it's place there came the images of the forest of green and the teaming life of the woodlands. There were bees and dragonflies in the air and cool breezes that blew threw the trees smelling of flowers and clean water.

The scene shifted, the trees blackened and died, the dragonflies choked on smoke and fell to the gray grass, the acrid smell of rotting corpses was thick enough to make the unaccustomed vomit. The man and the woman were gone but in their place was a small thing running threw the forests. It ran on four legs like a dog, like the Scourged beasts who chased it, till it vanished in a poof of smoke and ash.

From behind a tree some yards away the little Druid stood looking at the thing that had been running. It was a wild sort of human, a child who barely stood knee high to a warhorse, thin from hunger but wise in the ways of surviving in this world. He spoke not a world of any language nor wore a stitch of clothing. His long hair was unkempt and matted with tangles. This feral child was the last living thing for miles and miles around.

Kayas learned three things quickly:

The first was that the man and the woman had been wrong to go to Andorhol. Their little boy had no children to play with and now he had no parents. The little Druid new little about Ahn'qiraj but that it was a far different type of war than fighting the Scourge. Two weeks traveling across The Plauglands were testament to that. The Scourge did not jus die as the Scarab Lord had… they killed and multiplied.

The seconds is that that there was Scourge who could control beasts. This realization startled her as she saw the man crouched in the tree above the boy. His pack of hounds had driven him this way and now it was time to spring the final part of the trap. The panting boy was not aware of his impending capture by the forsaken man dressed in tattered quel'dorie hunting leathers readying a net to throw.

The last truth was how the boy came upon his name. As he struggled feebly with the net, attempting to cut it by rock and nail and tooth, as if fel-forged cable could be cut by anything, he whimpered and cried. Finally words came to him. Old words, in the kaldorie tongue, spoken in a thick accent meaning he had barely learned them before his became feral.

"Cas pin!" he cried out, snot and tears making mud out of the dirt on his face and bare chest, "Cas pin!" As he was bound hand and foot he tried wildly to fight for freedom, not wishing to share some horrid fate he was only too aware awaited child in the Plaguelands. The little Druid knew this fate, had seen it with her own eyes…

The thing that the Warlock had said, back in the house with the Priest, _"__I__found__him__in__the__Plaguelands.__He__was__a__feral__child.__" _ Which meant that the man in the hunting leather, who climbed trees and commanded packs of hounds and could handle a squirming child as if he had had some of his own at one point, must be…

"Sean of Darrowshire." The man said, holding out a hard bit of traveling biscuit to the boy. "They call me Serz Huzad though, on account of … well its not important. It's demonic for 'you're useless'. Maybe someday you can tell me what 'cas pin' means."

But Kayas knew that when the boy had finally been tamed and learned to speak of what happened in the Plaguelands and what became of his parents, he had nary a clue. The secrets were locked away in his mind, kept hiding from his waking continence lest he go insane with the remembering. Whoever he was going to be, whatever had brought him to the Plaguelands and to Serz Huzad, all he had left was the name he gave himself.

Caspin.


	30. Butcher, Baker and Dorie Seed Taker

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

This chapter was shorter than intended and so I removed the beginning scene from the next chapter and added it to the end of this one. It sits a little awkward for my taste but serves it's purpose of lengthening the chapter a bit

~*~ Chapter 29 ~*~

… and the next thing she knew the Priest was pulling her off the bed and out of the room. "I'm sorry," he was saying, "but I need the house. Now. Alone. Go do something else for a while." His voice shook, as did his hands. The sunlight, if it could be called that was filtering threw the dingy windows, looking like gray air in a cold crypt.

She was roughly dumped in the hallway, alarmed and annoyed. When she stood, feline feet tucked under to avoid being trampled she was pushed even further towards the door by an insisting hand. "Out!" he barked at her.

The fore room of the house was deserted of all possessions of both the Warlock and his ward. Any traces of 'breakfast for four' were also gone with not even a smell to linger. In the corner stood a silent mass draped in red and white. Even its face was covered, but from the size and posture… she knew it was the Warlock. Something about how absolutely still the undead woman was set off warning bells in the Druids head. Like a nightmare she just _existed_ in that moment, having no past and no future. Just now.

The red on the cloth was fresh blood. A lot of blood and judging by the splatter patterns not shed willingly.

Kayas went. Even in her feline form she wept for the loss of the Scarlet Zealots and everything those men and women had lost this day. Not just their lives, but also possibly their afterlives. If Sylvannas took recruits from the living, she certainly wouldn't pass up fresh corpses to drag back up from the dead and force into indentured servitude.

Slinking into the shadows she decided to explore the town unseen. The Priest had said "go do something else for a while", but how long that was she had no idea. Filling a few hours sating curiosity wouldn't hurt, right? The hammers at the anvils and the gossip from the shops wouldn't stop for her passing if they did not know she passed. The sleep still clung to her eyes, despite the adrenaline of being awakened so rudely, so some light exploration would do her some good.

She slunk threw the shadows of Brill, this dead town full of a strange sort of lively silence. The Deathguards could stare right at her, seeing threw her stealth with enchantments of some kind, but they said nary a word and let her be. This turned out to be helpful as she came upon a bakers shop near an old inn. The smell wafting threw the windows was oddly familiar and only slightly moldy.

Leaping into a broken window she sniffed harder and tried to pinpoint the smell. The bakery had been large before a fire had taken out half the structure. The current owner hadn't bothered to fix the damage, just scooted the huge cast iron oven to the other side of the structure and took out a wall to make more room. The shelves were lined with sacks of old flour and dusty bottles of spices.

And alliance crates of food.

Kayas' tale lashed to keep her balanced on the thin sash of the window as she looking the crates over. Yes, they belonged to the Alliance. The blue lion was the sigil of no one else that she knew of. Leaping softly onto the floor she padded across the dust and debris to the shelves and leap up. Small as she was there was room for her between the two crates.

Her paws were working at the lid when something very, very warm touched her shoulder. Turning slightly she got a view of a piping hot pie balanced on the end of a large paddle used to pull them from the oven. The shop owner was scowling or grinning. It was hard to tell with half her covered in metal plates.

"Moon berries," she said, "commission to make some pies. And you'll be keeping out of them, thank you." The pie and it's maker went to the other end of the shop and the pie soon joined a row of almost a dozen others on the table. An enchanted bag was folded neatly nearby, awaiting the cooled pies.

The Druid mewled softly, seeking some kind of pity from this Forsaken woman. Moon berries grew wild all over Darkshore and Ashenvale and were amongst her favorite fruits. The pies themselves glowed from the moonlight caught within the berries they were baked of. It had been so long since she had tasted anything from her homelands…

"Out with you." The woman turned back to her work, hands working two knives to churn up another batch of pie crust.

Shifting into her upright form the Druid slid from the shelf and crept close to the pies, "Just a nibble?" She held up her hand as the woman turned towards her, making a tiny space between her fingers to indicate size. "Just a tiny taste. Just to make sure it's perfect!"

"Tell me something," the baker said, "Are you the Druid from the Undercity? The one who made the Dark Lady and the Priest fight?"

Kayas was confused. She backed away a step, not liking the look in the woman's deadly glowing eyes, or the way she held the two knives she had been using to break the shortening into the flour. She opted for a diplomatic answer to the question, hoping still to get an least a single berry before she got chased off, "I'm just a Druid from Auberdine. I never wanted to be in the Undercity."

The knives lashed out fast as lighting. Whoever this woman had been in life – well it certainly wasn't a baker! Kayas was into her Dishu form and out the window fast as she had ever fled before, but not before the woman got two shavings of hair, one from the shoulders and another from the end of her tale. Certainly she was skilled in the use of daggers but it had been a long time since she wielded them against anything but a pie.

For that the little Druid was grateful. The disappointment of not getting at least one berry was tempered with a smug feeling that the wretched Dark Lady and the High Priest had fought because of her. She hoped they had said nasty things. She hoped they didn't like each other anymore. She hoped they were moving towards being enemies now. And while she was at it she hoped this eventually made the entire Horde collapse inward on itself and snuffed out the threats her beloved forests faced half a world away.

Her imagined scheming was interrupted by the very real feeling of being followed. Having lost her taste for being around the Scourged minions of Brill the little Druid had left town and was wondering close to the fire-charred walls of an abandoned garrison. The smoke from a fire could be seen coming up threw the roof. Those who would repair it had abandoned it, but someone was still calling it home it seemed.

It wasn't so much the feeling of being watched, but the familiar feeling of the Priest and the Warlock seeming to follow her.

The road was silent, a few wandering undead dotting the hillsides around her. There were few trees, and fewer 'wildlife' to mill about under them. And speaking of mills, the one up ahead looked like it had it's own horror story to tell. Whatever it was, the Druid didn't want to hear it. After two weeks of listening to the sobbing and heartsick stories of those left in the Plaguelands she had enough of stories.

Her melded herself into the shadows and crept, circling around and heading towards the feeling of 'following'. Whatever it was it wasn't just filled with the power of the Priest and the Warlock, but of life itself. The promise of life, to be precise; she followed what had been following her.

Seems the plague in her system had not taken away her ability to sense the natural ebb and flow of life at all. One of the earliest exercises she had done with her Druid trainer had been to make 'friends' with a plant. Then the plant was neglected, not given food and water, until it cried out to be helped. If she could sense this then she could pass onto the next level of training, which would be learning how to help the little plant.

She had been an excellent student. Not particularly powerful in the ways of the Druid, but naturally inclined. It came to her as instinct. The same instinct that now had her tracking down another plant she had 'made friends' with.

Circling behind a busted up wagon scarred with weapon marks, she hopped over the bones of an enormous warhorse and landed right behind the one who had been following her. He was motionless and quite, listening. Despite this he had no idea where she was or how she had dropped off his radar.

All she saw were long white and scarred ears sticking up into the stale roadside air. Dressed crown to toe in black, she took him for a High Elf of some kind. The lowly kind, judging by how old his clothing was. The heat coming off his body as he strained to pinpoint where she had disappeared smelled of some kind of men's scented water and good quality sheets.

Shifting into her elfin form, she tapped him on the shoulder, "Excuse me, but you have something of mine."

Her accent, she was aware, was thickly Darnassian. No doubt he noted this also when his back when ramrod strait. Without saying or doing anything else, he simply reached into his bag and handed her what she asked for over his shoulder.

Taking the pilfered item gingerly between two fingers, she put it in the little compartment attached to her belt. Smiling so that her voice would reflect pleasure at his cooptation she said, "Goddess watch over you."

"It was you who healed the Sentinels?" The tone of his voice unnerved her. His posture, his rich smell and old clothing, it didn't add up. There also wasn't the same trace of burned up arcane or fel energy emanating from him as there was with Blood Elves.

"What are you?" she asked

His smile was apparent even inside his mask and with his back still turned, "A figment, like love." And just like that he was gone. Disappearing in a cloud of transparent smoke.

Startled, Kayas jumped back. Glancing around she tried to find him. His aura should make it easy; once a Druid had your unique aura signature they usually were able to track any Human-type creature. But he was gone. Just gone.

Taking the item from her belt she held it in her hand and looked at it. She had been made an abomination of nature for this small, precious thing. It could save the entire world from the Scourge if only she could find a way to reproduce the thing and teach others to do the same.

The Dorie seed.

~*~ Segue ~*~

Sylvannas

There wasn't an inch of Tirisfal the Dark Lady didn't patrol. With all the Deathguards around one would think they could be trusted to the task but alas, no. Not long ago, before there were Deathguards or Forsaken or hope of restoring what was destroyed there had only been her. When she was finally free of Arthas she set out to find the only thing she still had left: her body.

Irony that he had buried her ravaged corpse, even more so that he had done it in Brill's cemetery. The elaborate mausoleum constructed to house the thing had only enraged the spirit who had to break the thick walls, wards and iron bolts to get in. Alone with her thoughts at last the fallen Ranger General of Silvermoon set out to establish a place from which she could launch her counterattack and win back what was ripped from her dying grasp.

A foolish though, that something dead could live again. All she had succeeded in doing was becoming so much like him it irked her to the core. Often she found herself in a council meeting, some boring discussion about an embargo on stolen Dwarven ale just about putting her to sleep, and she would feel it in her bones. She would feel _him_ in her bones and need to remind herself how she was different.

Fortunately, just a few hundred yards outside the city proper she found the difference. Arthas had daemons at his disposal… she had angels. Three days into the discussion and the Dark Iron still wouldn't let up on the embargo, their emissary getting fat on Tirisfal pumpkin wine in the process. She had half a mind to dump him in the mote and send for a new emissary. Instead she left him there and went forth to quiet her troubles with a short walk…


	31. Sylvannas' Angels

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

"If I die young, burry me in satin

Lay me down on a bed of roses…(3)"

… so that I can spend my undead existence smelling nice in something pretty.

~*~Chapter 30~*~

Kayas

The still form sat on a fallen log and looked up at the moon, cloak pulled tight that only her face showed under the hood; just the glowing red eyes, white curls of hair and black-slicked mouth. The bloodless skin of her face showed the tattoos she had had acquired as a living High Elf, the pale stripes reflected in the moonlight.

"Good evening, Druid." She said without turning to see who had come upon her. In the distance plagued hounds were be seen jumping at each other threw the bushes and nighttime mist. She knew the Druid had not noticed her until it was too late to go elsewhere and not be noticed _by_ her.

The Druid shifted, staying at a distance. "Good evening." The way the Banshee Queen sat, head still high and shoulders back even as she mused something unknowing, made Kayas want to bow. Maybe it was the whole tragic air of fallen noble. The High Elves were certainly good at affecting that specific aura.

"Do you know about Children's Week?"(1)

"Yes, ma'am."

"Perhaps you will be interested in knowing that even as Forsaken we celebrate this holiday."

The absurdity of such a thing made the Druid snort before she realized her insolence would not likely go over well with the Queen of said Forsaken. She stiffened, preparing to run if need be.

Amused, the Dark Lady turned her head and motions with long purple stained nails that the little Druid should approach. "Amongst the living the holiday celebrates the children who's parents died to keep others amongst the living, yes? And you honor those children by giving them toys and candy and … mortal trinkets."

Stepping closer to the Dark Lady the little Druid nodded, aware that the woman sitting in front of her wouldn't see her head motions. She stepped over the log and took a seat a few feet away from the taller elf.

"Perhaps," the undead Queen went on, "you will be interested in knowing why the Forsaken celebrate it?"

_I assume,_ the Druid though, _it's to mock the living…_ "If you care to share, I will listen." _After all, I was raised to respect the dead. Irony of all ironies._

The Dark Lady pointed to the pack of plagued hounds, leaping and frolicking closer and closer to where the two sat watching, "You honor children who gave their parents to the war effort amongst the living. Amongst the dead we honor the parents who gave their children."

Kayas had been looking at the Dark Lady as she spoke, remembering the plagued hounds from her dream. Then her head snapped around to where the long white finger pointed. In the distance came the sound of laugher. Harsh, grating laughter. Her hand was over her mouth in horror as the outlines of little children could be seen amongst the plagued beasts. They were kicking around a human head inside a crimson colored helmet. The long black braid twirled as it was flung threw the air over and over again.

She looked away, covering her face with her hands, squeezing her misty eyes shut in an attempt to block out what she had just seen. Undead children. Forsaken children. Bones and rotting flesh, glowing eyes and plated hair. Amongst them was at least one quel'dorie child, long ears long since chewed off by something, but unmistakably not Human as the other three had been.

"You see," the Forsaken Queen was saying, speaking softly as if the Druid's horror meant anything to her, "they were left behind as their parents went off to war. Often they were alone when the Scourge came calling on them. Often they died alone." Her voice became harsh, "Can you imagine waking up to a nightmare where you were abandoned to the very fate your protectors swore to keep you from?"

_You mean like when the Priest left me alone for you?_ "Yes, I can imagine." Though she hadn't mean to there was a bit of sarcasm in her voice. The Dark Lady slanted a look at her then back at the children.

They wound closer and close, headless of which direction they went. Out here they were the quick and the deadly, the things you had to watch out for in the night. Half a dozen little glowing eyes blinked in and out of the bushes and trees, moving with easy grace along with the hounds.

Soon enough they noticed the pair and, shouting greetings to their Queen, ran over with the head of the slain Human. Kneeling the little silver-haired quel'dorie child presented it as an offering. "She came when we called," the child's voice was almost lifelike, "We gave her a swift death." All three looked up at their Queen with expectant adoration.

The Dark Lady nodded and smiled, genuinely smiled for the children, pleased to hear there was one less Scarlet out there harming her people. "Well done, my angels." To the Druid she said, "The women Scarlets are easiest to lure away. They can't resist the call of a wounded child. My children use this to their advantage, thinning the heard one weakling at a time."

Shaking and ready to vomit up bile the Druid got up to leave.

Giggling like it was a game the knobby boned children swarmed liked playful locusts, smiling with joy at the prospect of a new plaything. "Come!" one said, taking her hand. The cold, skinless fingers of the tiny bone hands of the little boy closed around Kayas wrists with surprising strength.

The mistake was looking to the Dark Lady for help. Or maybe it was the sickening guilt of seeing the look in the woman's eyes. _Their parents abandoned them. Will you? _Having lost their families when they rose as Scourge, these children now looked to Sylvannas not only as a Queen but a mother. Looking back down at the children she saw hope in their eyes. Rational thought processes. Happiness. If they couldn't have the life they were suppose to they were determined to have the afterlife they had earned.

Not too long ago the Druid had been a child, remembering all the wonderment she felt for the world and how every slight from another cut so deep that the wounds never fully heal. Those wounds shaped who she was today and were the reason she chose the feral path. These children had their own scars to contend with that had shaped them as well.

The quel'dorie child squealed like it was Winter's Veil and the living creature before them was a stocking full of happiness. But the kaldorie child had no idea what to do with Forsaken children. Did she play ball with them? – the though of kicking the head around turned her stomach several times over.

_I cant believe I'm doing this. Playing with Scourged children! What would my mother say? What would my _teachers_ say?_ Leaning down she tried to smile, "I'm… um… not particularly good with children but, um, what games do you like to play?" _Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret asking that?_

"Kill it!" Apparently this was the name of the game as well as a battle cry. That would explain why there were no plagued birds or squirrels or even flies in this place. If one was eternally a child who never slept, what was there to do but play games?

Kayas winced. Before she could speak the little boy noticed her face and drew back. Distrust suddenly hung in the air. They had only approached her because the Dark Lady was there, but they were thinking beings after all and well aware of when someone didn't want them around. Though most adults ignore this instinct children are far more likely to pay it heed.

She felt guilty. Their faces, so young and full of the fact of their existence would haunt her forever if she didn't make amends. "How about a piggy back ride?"

"You or me?" The Human girl, third of the trio, asked with a half-trusting grin.

_SHINK! Shinkshink!_

Lights were flashing by her head, inches from her temples. If she hadn't bent closer to the child it would have struck. Reflexively she snatched up the little girl and curled her into a protective embrace. Something on the other side of the clearing, the direction the trio had come from was rattling the foliage and cursing. Darkhounds were fleeing as if their afterlives depended on it.

The sensation of holding a writhing corpse against her body just about caused the Druid to make good on her very real need to vomit. Sylvannas snatched up two children and was gone before the Druid could even realize they were under attack.

_What here could hurt the_ - oh, yeah...

Men and women in red and white tabards were surrounding her. Before she could pick a direction several more of the flashes – bolts of Holy energy (2) – struck her. The pain of Holy magic and the plague sizzled in her blood almost took her to the ground. Panting with the effort not to yield she tried to flee. Her flesh, little as there was, smoked where the bolts struck, holes singed into her light leather clothing.

Picking a direction at random she moved but walls of golden light sprung up everywhere she turned. Knowing full well she would be burned beyond life if she tried to cross she chose instead to fake one direction and when the wall went up there, darted in the direction she had wanted to go.

She almost got threw; if not for the line of people standing in her way that is. They advanced. She backed away, still holding the frightened child. They were good, making her panic long enough to set the trap. She wasn't used to being hunted by creatures that shared her intelligence of the hunt as well as superior skills in magic.

The ground felt strange under her feet, as if every blade of dead grass were reaching up towards her calves, or rather away from the walls of Holy energy? Even the blighted plants sought to distance itself from the Light? This had not occurred to her before, but flashed threw her mind now. Some plants were quite sentient but others operated on instinct alone.

She tried to calm the child, who was clinging to her for dear existence. "Fly away!" She was saying, kicking her feet against the Druid's sides. "Mommy said the Druids could fly!"

"I'm not that kind of Druid." She whispered hushingly to the child, not wanting the advancing Scarlet soldiers to hear their conversation. All she had on her side at this point was that they didn't know she was a Druid and was in fact still alive. Surely they would let her pass, being Human's after all, even if they did look so sinister in their red and black armor that they seemed quit uncaring if she were alive.

Taking a deep breath she stood strait up, chin in the air as if it would make her half-grown self taller than the man before her, and looking down her elegant nose at the one in the lead. Behind him his battle-mages were winding up their holy bolts again. The child she slung across one hip as if it were her own and the most natural thing in the world for her to be holding it as such "Can I go nowhere in this blasted forest without someone trying to kill me. Honestly, is this any way to treat a lady?"

Somewhere someone laughed.

"Shut your mouth, you filthy Scourged witch!" The leader barked, face wrinkling up in disgust inside his crimson helm. One eye was white and obviously of no use to him. His thick-gloved hands wielded an impressively polished sword of red and white; red stained armor glowing in the light of the Holy energy circle trapping his prey.

Affronted, Kayas tried her best to affect that tone the Elders always took with her when she did something she was not supposed to… such as braving the demons of the Crag Ravine to retrieve a misplaced hairbrush. "I'll have you know that I am _not_ Scourge, nor Forsaken, nor a witch! I am Kayas of Auberdine and if you know what is good in this place then you will let me pass!"

The mages laughed. The leader scowled. The warriors in back took out their swords. "I'll have you know," the man said, "That I don't care if you're the Queen of Darnassus, all you Scourge wenches are the same to us!" With that his sword came up in attack-

-Dropping the child the Druid rolled out of the way, shifting into her Dire Bear form as she did. This form – one she had no mastery over and wasn't even suppose to know yet - took a great deal of energy to transition into but offered the greatest armor and regeneration from her healing spells. Rooted to the earth with every step she took she reached down, down, down past the plagued ground to find the touch of Cenarius that would allow her to call on His powers to aid her. Up, up, up into the air she sent her will, flying threw the stratosphere and merging itself with Great Elune. Bound fully now with earth and moon, she was a force to be reckoned with.

It only took two seconds for this to occur, but long enough for the mages to finish their spells and send more bolts of Light in her direction. Only just in time did she realize they were aimed for the child! Rearing up on her hind legs she fell to the ground with full force, shaking the earth around her in waves. Green shoots of vines shot out of the ground and wrapped themselves around the child, creating a living protective barrier that would regenerate on it's own. Though she was not a caster she had applied her mind to master protective skills in her feral forms. The barrier would feed from her connection to Cenarius while she stayed in this form.

"By the Light!" the leader shouted staggering back, "What on earth is that crazy She-Witch making in her dungeons?"

Affronted once more the Druid realize they meant her. Forsaken… Night Elf… Druid… _thing_. Roaring with anger and enough force to shake the trees she charged the leader, intending to send him flying into his own casters. The casters were winding up harder spells that were meant to blast holes in the coverage around the little girl. Both the leader and the Druid collided, her enormous clawed paws and arms as thick as his waist against his shield and sword. Imagine her surprise when he was not knocked back, but braced himself and only moved a couple feet. He wasn't green, for sure!

_Ok, so I don't know how to use this form fully yet- _The though preceded her seeing several holy bolts being released and turning her massive head enough to see the child scrambling to stay behind the pieces of the barrier that were regenerating the fastest. _I have to take out the casters first._ Both paws on the leader's shield, she shoved it to the side, intent on pushing him over and rushing past. His sword glanced off the thick hide of her shoulders and drew blood.

Ignoring the pain and went past him the same way he ignored being shoved off balance rolled to the side. The casters were all in unison now, channeling an enormous bolt of energy that would destroy the barrier and the child. Skidding to halt just feet away, the Druid realize they were inside a protective arcane barrier. _How do I shut_-

_ScreeEEEEEEEeeee!_

All casters dropped to the ground, stunned into silence. The Druid jerked her head side to side, wishing she could put paws over her ears. The sound - that sound! - was enough to drive her mad! _What _is_ that?_ She and all the magic users were looking around, trying to pinpoint the shrieking.

_ScreeeeeEEEEeee!_

Several of the mages, perhaps as many as half, had fallen to the ground in a stupor. Their minds were gone for the meantime and they were useless to their comrades. The leader, not having any skill in magic manipulations at all, was immune. The Druid reared back, pooling enough of Elune's light into a thin shield around herself, and drove a path right over the remaining mages, knocking them into the blighted ground and shutting down their attempts to keep attacking for good. At least one of them looked as if he may be able to summon his control of the Light even threw the mind-numbing screeching. Wherever the arcane barrier had come from it was gone now.

Turning back to the child she rushed over, intent that they would be able to get out of the opening now. Halfway back she faltered, realizing that the high-pitched whine was cutting off her connection to Elune and Cenarius. The Dire Bear from would leave her at any moment; she wasn't strong enough to support it on her own. She wasn't even supposed to know how to do it yet: if her teachers found out she had learned it on her own they would be furious!

The barrier failed for lack of support, the child trembling in terror in the circle of dead vines. Small yellow tears had soaked her face, glowing yellow eyes pulsing with her terror. Shifting into her elfin form the Druid snatched her up and turned tale to run past the distracted leader. For his part he was swinging that impressive sword at hordes of plagued hounds trying to make work of his useless casters.

Kayas skidded to a halt just inside the opening of the circle of fire: a man dressed crown to booted toe in golden armor stood before her. His thick-gloved hands rested around the pommel of his great gold-etched sword, tip resting on the ground. His armor, every inch covered in gold and fine silver, had nary a scratch on it and gleamed like the sun. The blue and white tabard he wore displayed a roaring lion, eyes embroidered with golden thread. Larger by far than the average man, as most of his kind tended to be, he stood half a head taller than the Night Elf who trembled and bled before him.

"15 min ago," the man's voice was like smooth stone, "a woman I had just talked to came up missing. You wouldn't happen to know where she is, now would you?" He was talking to the child.

Banshee Queen's voice floated out of nowhere, though her self was not to be seen. "Assuming my necromancers can reattach the head, you'll find her in the Appothocarium in a few hours."

~*~ End Notes ~*~

(1)I wasn't going to add holidays to the story but then I feel in love with the idea of why the Forsaken would celebrate children. Then I came up with the idea of why there are no children in the game world (besides it would be messed up) and will add it latter. It fits rather well.

(2) Holy Bolts – I assume that if High Elves can fling them at things dead and not-yet-dead then so can Humans.

(3) 'If I die Young', by The Band Perry


	32. Between Enemies

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

I usually avoid name-dropping for the sake of credibility

But when moving and shaking is going on in the world

The movers and shakers come out to investigate

~*~ Chapter 31 ~*~

"And here I though I was going to have to look all day for the three of you," The man said. Behind him the Scarlet Mages were getting to their feet. The casters and warriors formed ranks and drove the plagued hounds off.

The Paladin ignored them, steadfast between the lot and the undead child he sought. "Now," he went on, gazing at the little girl under the rim of his winged helm, "I don't want to be mean, but I've told you before to stop killing the Humans. Picking fights with each other is not going to solve your problems."

The child squirmed to get down so much that Kayas released her. She walked right up to the Paladin, staying a good foot away from the pulsing sword. Hands over her mouth Kayas waited for him to slash her into pieces with that impressive glowing weapon. "But she started it!" the child wailed.

The Druid just about broke her neck looking sideways at the pair. _They know each other?_

"Are you sure?" the man asked looking down his nose at her and somehow keeping his head up at the same time, "You weren't stealing the pumpkins again, where you? Or riling up the murlocs? Or chasing the cats? Or reviving the dead puppies? Did she _really_ start it?"

The child's whole upper half scrunched up with conviction; "She started it by being here! This is our land!" A tiny foot stomped the ground, hands clenched in fists.

The man sighed, "Sylvannas… Your angels are acting up again."

"I feel just awful!" The voice was still not placeable and unashamedly sarcastic. For some reason it reminded Kayas of her dream of the Windrunner sisters drinking stolen wine on the beach in the Ghostlands – in Quel'thalas.

Two sets of giggles sounded as well: the children the Queen took with her when she vanished into the trees. "_Scarlet Marmots… Scarlet Marmots... Scarlet Marmots_…" they were chanting in the background. Their high-pitched metallic voices sending shivers of every kind down the backs of every living being present.

The Paladin shook his head and let out a breath that sank his whole upper half, "Why ask for my help and then go against my advice, Ms. Windrunner?"

"To keep you out of my way without killing you."

The man wasn't even surprised, "As I suspected. Which is why I've taken the liberty of inviting Bartholomew back to Light's Hope with me. He's packing as we speak."

The Banshee Queen was suddenly in front of him, "What?" The little girl squealed with glee and wrapped her arms around the Dark Lady's legs.

"Brother Bartholomew. You remember him, right? Died defending Light's Hope the first go-round. Yes, he's decided to come back." Behind the mouth guard of his helm the Druid could tell the man was grinning from ear to ear.

Taking several deep breaths to calm herself the Dark Lady put a finger between his eyes, almost inside the rim of the helm, "My _most prized _citizen-" 

"Spare me, Your Magesty. Every time the mortals lose a champion you gain one. You have stables full by now, so we're taking one back." There was laughter in the words, but a cold truth behind them.

Kayas blanched, "Um… can I go now?"

Taking a step to go around them she ended up directly in the line of holy fire. It slammed into her body and sent her reeling over backward. She hit the ground hard and rolled till a dead sapling stopped her. Everything got loud; she had to move the wild black hair out of the way to see what was going on.

Sylvannas was locked in the embrace of the Paladin and was somehow unaffected by his Holy aura. Quickly she jumped away swearing. Her bow and arrow was in hand leveling a shot almost before the man could snatch them away. More holy bolts headed towards the Forsaken Queen and were blocked by the Paladin's cape.

He wouldn't let them kill her and he wouldn't let her kill them. No one was happy about this, everyone glaring at the imposing figure in gold and blue.

"You will move or we will move you!" the Commander was shouting, "We want that Scourge child on charges of murder!"

"And what of my people you have slain? Who will you give me to answer for them?" There was much to say for the Banshee Queens sense of justice and self-restraint on behalf of the Paladin. The child giggled and nodded enthusiastically.

One of the warriors in back scoffed, "One can't kill what is already dead. Find a grave and lie down, Scourge!"

The Paladin blocked the Queen's advance on the arrogant woman. Why she obeyed him the Druid had no idea, though it was very interesting to see a Human Paladin giving the Forsaken Queen 'orders' as it were. More interesting to see how hard it was for the undead elf to rein in both temper and protective instinct. She took her job as protector seriously it seemed.

"Let me slay them all now and be done with it! I'll raise them all up at once so they can adjust together, yes?"

"No." The Paladin said catching himself halfway between an eye roll and adjusted to make the gesture look less obvious.

"You spoil my grandest plans." Taking up the child in her arms she made to walk out of the golden circle. Several more bolts of holy energy were sliced clean in two by the Paladin's sword.

"Why do you protect her?" The Commander's face was red with anger, "Let us kill her and be done with it!"

"One cannot explain rationality to a zealot," The Paladin answered, slicing threw more holy bolts. The warriors were circling in to attack on the other side, casters on the left. "No, no. You'll only make her angry." He kept eyes on both casters and fighters, "Trust me on this; you can't outmaneuver a Ranger General of Silvermoon."

The words slapped Kayas in the face: _a Ranger General of Silvermoon_. That is why she allows him such liberties; he has her respect because she has his. The little Druid at once wanted to know this man's story. Why was he here? Why was he not being attacked by the Scarlets or the Forsaken? Why did his Holy energy not burn the Scourged High Elf?

These toughs were just a flash of electricity threw her mind, but still not as fast as one warriors retort of, "Arthas did." Nor where they as fast as the Banshee Queen's attack. The screeeEEEEeeee that silenced the casters erupted from the Forsaken woman's small mouth.

The Paladin was yelling at the rest to flee, was yelling at the Dark Lady to stop her assault, and yelling at the cowering warrior to shut up as he screamed in terror at being pursued by the undead Queen. "Lady-Lady! Please, this will not solve the-"

"But it does make me feel better." So much venom could not be spoken if one were a snake that spat it. A swift movement of one clawed hand and the warrior was on the ground holding gushing purple ropes that a moment before been guts.

Kayas' stomach lurched and she fell to her knees. Sick, she vomited into the dead grass watching the horrified man trying to push his own guts back into his shredded abdomen. He pleaded with is fellow Scarlets to help him as the Banshee Queen stood over him smirking. Her hand was red with blood that pumped out onto the ground. The other arm still held the grinning child whose head was laid on her shoulder innocently.

The Scarlets tried to advance towards him, the medic of the group winding up his healing spells.

Turning her hooded head towards the lot the Dark Lady said softly, "Go ahead and touch him; I'll raise you all together." They all stopped, understanding the promise. They wept and wailed to see their friend drying and not be able to help. The poison of the Lady's touch was smoking in his innards even as he was trying to save himself. Where he a Paladin or a Priest he may have been able to … but not a warrior with no such skills.

The Paladin was slumped over his sword handle, praying to the Light for the man's eternal soul. He did not try to help nor hinder any events. In his mind the man had played with fire and lost. It had been his decision to ignore the warnings and goad the Forsaken Queen in exactly the right way to set her off no matter the outcome.

The rest were caught in moral dilemma, so to speak. The poison would spread to anyone who touched him, yet he pleaded for help. There was nothing they could do to save the man and yet he was unwilling to accept that. With hands out towards them in supplication they were forced to look him in the eye and shake their head.

This was the intended purpose the Dark Queen had in mind the second he opened his mouth. He didn't get a swift death and then being raised up and forgiven for the slight as a re-born Forsaken. No, he got to sit there and have his people turn away from him as he pleaded for help – to fully understand what it meant to be affected by the Plague and have your wits about you. Kayas knew from seeing it that it could take hours, days or even weeks for someone to die from that kind of gut wound. He would live long enough to truly regret what he had done, but die alone. Even now they saw him as dead and were planning how to destroy him when he rose.

The Paladin made a move to leave; the band of Scarlets mounted an organized assault on the Banshee Queen; the Druid, deeply in denial that the man's suffering was necessary, ran to him and dove to his aid; the wall of holy energy blinked out. The child was dropped like a hot stone and ran off into the bushes to find her friends.

The Scarlet Commander cursed, seeing the child get away but ordered the band to attack the Dark Lady instead. Lashes of Holy energy whipped threw the air meaning to catch the undead woman off guard as she drove sideways to catch the Druid who ran past. If she tried to exercise her control of the Plague then the Druid would not be able to move and possibly get killed by the Scarlets.

Kayas hit the ground and never in her desperate existence called on the vines to come to her aid with so much willpower. Instead of a shield to protect the child from assault she made a living one now for herself to defend against the Dark Lady. The woman was going to be furious with her but the Druid didn't care; there was no way this man deserved to lay here and languish. Either he would live or he would die, but it would happen in the next few moments if the Druid had anything to do with it!

The flimsy first layer of the vines was quickly shredded by both Scarlet and Forsaken. When they realized they were working together they bickered amongst themselves long enough for Kayas to get a really good connection with the energies laying dormant in the fouled Tirisfal fields and forests – and pulled them all to her, as much as she could take in. Not having had anyone summon the power in so long time… they answered.

The first flush of power went to the vines that held his hands and feet down. He cursed and swore at her, trying to call powers he didn't possess and threatening things he could not do even if he were in perfect health. Holding down each limb was easy; she was far stronger than a Human. The vines up and wound themselves till he was pretty immobile.

The second flush of power went to fortify the shield. The third flush was a rush – the land was waking up from a long slumber – that sent her mind reeling with the enormity of the untapped power. As it flowed into her from the ground it flowed also from the moon and the sky and the very air she breathed. Absorbing everything that Elune and Cenarius would lend her she called forth what healing spells she knew and wound them around the man.

So many vines encircled his form after just a few seconds that his armor creaked and broke apart as the vines swelled with power and pulsed in a healing rhythm with her breathing. Moving herself with precision she set to work with the real healing that needed to take place. Outside the barrier everything had gone quiet. Either they were all dead, fled or waiting. Whatever it was didn't concern her at the moment.

~*~ Outside the Barrier ~*~

Sylvannas

As soon as she had seen the barrier go up the Dark Lady had tried to break it down. She didn't want her poison removed; it took quite some time to brew something so potent, not to mention the difficulty of finding plaguebloom. The Scarlets on the other hand were after her Druid to kill it. She wouldn't let this happen. Even if it meant waiting until she came out and killing the Scarlet Warrior all over again. The Druid's punishment would come after, when the Paladin and the Scarlets were all gone home to their warm beds or her apothecaries.

Placing a hand in the air she indicated a truce with the spell flingers and fighters. Their Commander recognized her intentions and called his troops to a halt. "This won't be pretty." He told his men, but not bothering to keep his voice down. They backed away and waited. "We wait till they come out. The boy's dead, he'll possibly come out Scourge. Be ready to take him out first so she cant get him."

_You kill that bastard all over again if you want,_ the Dark Lady though, _so long as I get my Druid out of here in one piece_. Rising out of your grave and realize than the Forsaken were sentient after all was a shocker to each Scarlet she raised, but this one would realize it in time to have his friends hack him to pieces. A fitting punishment for his last words.

The Paladin alone noticed the changes before anyone else did. Slowly he asked, "Have any of you been to the Elfin Gates lately and seen the trees?"

The Dark Lady tried not to show her stiffness, "Yes." As soon as word had gotten to her, born on the lips of that ill-gotten runt Lore used to ferry his messages, she had taken the newly established portal and went to see for herself. The raw emotions that had erupted after so many years of exile from Quel'thalas had almost done her in. Shutting off her heart was something she had great skill in, and a skill she called on once again to tear herself away and come back to this dead wasteland where her own now resided.

The Paladin indicated the ground around the vine-y covers: the spreading green circle where the life in the long dead grass was reviving. The protective vines were becoming greener as the moments passed, soaking up purified waters from the ground and pulsing with rejuvenation. "I'm actually on my way to Orgrimmar to hunt down a Druid to explain this phenomena." Turning back to the Dark Lady he said, rather formal, "I wish to question her when she comes out. Is that understood?"

"My Druid, get your own. There are plenty in Thunder Bluff; I'm sure Hannumal will not deny you all the assistance you want." In truth she didn't want this Paladin getting it in his head to try and spirit her Druid away. The little she-cat would surely not put up a fight, still convinced in her own childish mind that her fate was not intertwined with the rest of the Forsaken now. If she only knew what the kaldorie did to the undead she would not be so quick to want to return to them.

The tip of the sword came out of the ground, "I think I'll take this one actually."

_Ass_, the Banshee Queen though at him – something she would never say aloud – and realized he still had her preferred weapons. She glared. He had her respect and she his but she found him a difficult non-ally to stomach at times. Maybe she could best him in a fight, maybe she couldn't, but she would not even dare try with only her twin blades between them. Not with the Scarlets so close.

"I hate you Tirion Fordring," she hissed. "I hate you and your entire race and one day when you too will serve at my feet. And with you at my side I shall cut down these Scarlets once and for all and rule all of Loarderon."

The Scarlets were horrified to hear this, but Tirion just laughed, "I cannot be at your side and at your feet at the same time, my dearest Queen, but if you are going to dream then dream big!"

_Does my overly confident Paladin want to bet on that?_


	33. The Gift of Life

~*~ Chapter 32 ~*~

The Dark Lady turned towards the Paladin, crossing her arms, "You wish to fight me for her?"

"I was hoping for a loan actually." He grinned behind his faceplate.

"Actually, she's property of neither the Dark Lady nor yourself, Sir Fordring." It was Serz, followed by Mr. Meow, and Caspin. "You may interview her if she allows it but I am here to make sure you do not use force." He came into view from behind a thicket. His pristine pressed robes managed not to snag on anything, an impressive thing to do when wearing a dress in the woods.

"Serze, could you stop me if you tried?" Tirion was amused, gloved hand reaching down to scratch the chin of the insisting feline. The Scarlets were now assessing a great many enemies. The longer they stood there the more people they were looking at fighting, all to avenge one dead and another becoming dead.

"I'm told I have a good bite." The Warlock replied with great pride. The cat crooned in agreement.

Tirion took a deep breath and let it out. Everyone was watching the pulsing vines now. The green was spreading into the air it seemed, purifying the breezes that came threw and sending the scent of moonlight and fresh turned, rich black earth into the winds. Even the sky seemed to be lightening up.

"Whom then does she belong to, good Warlock?"

"The High Priest-"

As if his mouth suddenly quit working his jaw snapped shut and was held firmly. For a moment it looked as if he did it himself till the Paladin cocked his head at the Banshee Queen. "Now, now, Sylvannas, keeping secrets from your dearest friends? For shame!" He tisked at her; she scowled in return.

The circle of green was spreading upward and outward. Now one of the trees nearest was being affected. The blighted bark was bending and creaking. Downward the new life traveled till the roots themselves were affected. Upward it went, the lowest limbs and branches jerking and quivering, twisting with new life and blooming tiny green shoots. Above the thick coating of vines where the Druid hid a small rain cloud was forming, dripping water onto the vines and feeding the roots of the trees and vines clean water.

Mr. Meow sat down to eat the freshly green grass. It was few and far between when he got to eat real grass and not that stuff the scout grew in the planter back home.

"Uh," The Scarlet Commander broke the stunned silence, "what kind of thing is she? I assumed a Scourged elf but… the Scourge can't do that. In fact, you're quite known for doing the opposite." His question was directed at the Paladin, not wanting to seem to be civil even for an instant with the Banshee Queen.

Serze, Tirion and the Dark Lady all looked at each other. For his part the scout stayed back, observing from a distance. His kneeling position on the ground brought him eye level with the trio of children who had quite a reputation for being blights on the Scarlet Crusaders. They were even given the nickname "Sylvannas' Angels" for the way they managed to always look innocent when caught doing mischief. One sat in his lap, the other two on either side and all watching.

"I'm quite puzzled," Serz said, "I'm not sure myself. According to sources she should be of the feral arts, but she has done more of the other specializations since being acquired."

"Acquired by whom?" Tirion asked once more. There were quite a few High Priests to be found around the know world and threw the Dark Portal.

The Scarlet Commander spoke up, "According to that collar around her neck I reckon some Blood Elf." The man shrunk back just a tad when the Forsaken elf hissed at him past sharp canines.

Tirion was nodding, face blank. This meant he had ideas he would be checking out. Which meant he would be leaving soon to do so. "Tell me more, good Sir." The cloud had spread to the entire clearing, sprinkling them all with pure water. The grass was growing back under all their feet, the trees standing up once more with greenery.

Mr. Meow retreated to where Caspin knelt in the thicket. The children squealed to see the giant cat and clung to his neck, pulling him to the ground and climbing him. When they couldn't make him 'giddyup' they settled for standing on him for a better view.

Serze chanced a look at his Queen before proceeding; "I have seen nothing of any one path in her enough to know where her specialties lay. I had first heard of her healing abilities in Qual'thalas. Afterward she grew trees from sleeping seeds using Fel magic mixed with Holy magic and turning the Scourge there into planters. Then she had gone from one end of Tirisfal to the next killing every Plagued thing that moved in one hit. I can't say as I can pinpoint any one specialty in all that."

Tirion's eyebrows went up to his hairline to hear all this. Yes, he had heard stories about this and stories about that but to find out it was all due to one person – one Night Elf Druid whelp obviously tainted with the Plague – was amazing. No wonder the Forsaken Queen was smug to have possession of such a gifted Druid.

As if on queue the rain departed and the vines pulled back, sinking into the earth. At first only the thickness of moving vines could be seen, though quickly they slid away to reveal the Human man beneath them. His armor was misshapen, having been broken away by the vines, but his stomach was smooth as baby skin and unblemished. Fully healed and free of the poison he waited for the vines to slip away from his limbs before leaping to his feet and rushing towards his companions.

Turning back sharply he pointed, "She's alive! She's not Scourge, she's alive! I don't know what she is but she's not one of them, I promise that!" His heart could be seen beating in every twitch of his muscles. Almost nothing of his clothing remained but his tabard to cover him; the vines had ripped them all up.

"What is this, you witch!" The Scarlet Commander demanded of the Banshee Queen. In the clearing where the vines had protected her work was a wooden statue of the Druid, flowing twiggy hair interlaced with tiny green flowering plants and covered in the leaves that sprouted from her very skin. She sat upright, legs crossed and hands out as if offering something. There were no markings of the Plague upon her still form.

"By the Lightbringer!" – Tirion and Scarlets

"By the Sunwell!" – Sylvannas and High Elf child

"By the Dark Lady!" – Serze and Human children

"By the moon…" – Caspin

The great black feline hauled himself off the ground and went to investigate. He sniffed first her hair and then her face. Smooth wooden features were peaceful and relaxed, hands extended outward. Where nose touched cheek, followed by a lick, it looked to soften. Gradually the softening spread downward and outward. The wood gave way to flesh; the flesh yielded to blood; the body began to breath.

The green surroundings, however, did not fair as well. Slowly at first and then with growing speed the life was sucked out of everything once more. As the little druid took on color and life again it was threw the retaking of her life essence from everything around her. The vines withered, the grass died, the trees drooped back to gray.

Luminous amber eyes fluttered open before all the circle of green was completely gone. Seeing it receding the Night Elf wailed in despair, losing the hope she had gained at being able to call the power to begin with. Exhausted, trembling to stand on feet that were still attached to the ground, she faltered. The very last of the green life entered her body and the roots broke, allowing freedom of movement.

Fine shivers cascaded to every limb when muscles refused to work in unison to keep her upright. The first trip sent her into the feline, who graciously broke her fall. The second one had her flat on her back in the dead grass panting with the effort.

"I can fix that pesky need to breath." The Banshee Queen offered with head cocked to the side under the dark hood.

"I'll pass." The words in Darnassian tumbled from her lips without thinking to translate.

The shivers became more violent, causing wracking and spasms. She had felt this before though, in the mote of the Undercity: the Plague was retaking her system. Once infected, always infected. Though her magic drove it back for a while it quickly surfaced again and retook her features.

From the corner of her eye she saw movement. Turning slightly she locked eyes with the scout, who's hands were over his mouth as if to stop himself from either saying something he didn't want to or holding back bile. Whichever it was would stay within his own mind when he watched her change from the Night Elf she had been into the Forsaken being she became under the Banshee Queen's administrations.

He fled, horrified by what he saw.

The Druid turned over, curling in on herself. No girl liked to be looked at like that and then have a boy run away from the sight of her. There wasn't even a way to pretend it wasn't personal and that he didn't reject her. It didn't matter that he was Horde and she was Alliance… they were both kaldorie. For their people being rejected by another kaldorie hurt more than anything.

The Scarlets, the Paladin, the Dark Lady, the Warlock, the Forsaken children and the enormous black cat all looked down on her as she lay there trapped in her own self loathing and anger. Both fists were balled and covering her face where she wept in despair.

The Paladin knelt down, resting one gloved hand on her shoulder, "Why do you weep child? You have done a wondrous thing this day, saving that man's life." Though she felt the flow of Holy power in him it did not burn her. He needed to teach the Priest this trick.

She shook her head in disagreement, adamant in her conviction, "Once infected…sob always infected. I could not save him."

Tirion and the Dark Lady's heads both snapped up to look at the man. His allies had formed ranks around him, he was reattaching his armor as best he could. Tirion swore; the Banshee Queen laughed.

"Oh, my. What do we have here?" Her voice was soft enough to miss if you weren't looking at her already. One hand raised slightly into the air, her nose tipped downward to study the man. Slowly she pulled her hand back to her making a fist as it came.

As if being pulled by a string the man began walking toward her. At first he didn't realize he was moving till one of the medics put up a hand to stop his progress. When the Light touched the plague tainted flesh it burned. The man yelped and jumped back. Suddenly he was surrounded by sword points and panting heavily.

The Paladin's shoulders slumped, he turned to the Druid, "What have you done?"

"I tried – I _tried!_" Her body's wracking prevented elaboration for a few moments, "I can cleanse the poison, but I cannot remove the plague. I tried!"

The medic was shaking his head saying, "He's alive. He's tainted with the plague, can spread it to others and he'll obey the Banshee Queen, but he's still alive."

The man was shaking his head, dropping to his knees in refusal of the truth, "I am not Scourge! I will not obey-"

The sound of Scarlet backup arriving was very close now.

The Commander lowered his chin and squared off with the Dark Lady. "Woman, you will turn over this creature to the Scarlet Campaign or we will take her from you one piece at a time. A thing such as you will not be allowed to possess a thing that can do that. Dead or alive, it's your choice."

Tirion Fordring, the Dark Lady and Serz all looked at the man as if he had lost his mind.

Sylvannas laughed, high and sweet as if she were still anything of a woman as to be bossed around by gender stereotypes, "One day when you are dead and raised again, remember you said that. So many others before you have knelt before me and recanted such brashness."

"The day I am laid to rest is the day they scatter me in the river that I will never come back as Scourge."

"Fool," The Paladin scoffed at the Commander, "You bring your vast army here for the sake of taking revenge for one woman's death and all they will do is give her more guards for her Undercity when she has laid you all low." He handed the surprised Queen back her bow. Turning sharply he left saying, "I will not stick around to watch you throw yourself into her embrace."

With that he was gone. With that the Banshee Queen knocked an arrow. With the arrow landing came the first scream. One of many as the Scarlet infantry swept over the fields and forests of Tirisfal, rushing the Forsaken Queen as if she were the Light itself and reaching her was salvation.

The battle that ensued would never be written about, would never be sung about, but in the end it is a turning point for the history of Azeroth and the Scarlet Campaign. For you see, the Commander had won the day. The Dark Lady had been forced to flee, leaving behind the precious living Druid.

Serz Huzad was not as lucky. In the end he lay motionless on the ground surrounded by Scarlet Zealots who were itching for revenge at the loss of their comrade earlier. Mr. Meows, refusing to leave the undead man's side, was his only shield against so many weapons. None of the Scarlets noticed, however, that the one whom the Druid had dammed to a double existence as both living and infected… was nowhere to be seen.


	34. Salira

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

This chapter was originally three pages long and written to be usable as a stand-alone short story.

Written two years ago (pre-Cata) when the Argent Squires first came out and my guild noticed that not only do Night Elf children not exist but also neither do Forsaken children.

~*~ Chaper 33 ~*~

There was one Scarlet the children never bothered. Each of the guards in turn always came back telling stories of hearing children crying and calling for help, but not this one.

Salira Porter was painfully aware of why the children avoided her… aware and also grateful. If she, like the others, ever had to contend with hearing their moaning and calls for help she, like others, would slowly go insane.

It was children's week again. The Scarlet Campaign always avoided leaving people alone on this particular holiday. Former parents went insane or would leave in droves to go back to the Plaguelands to look for their lost children. Or they would fall victim to Sylvannas' Angels, thinking they were back home in Brill or the Agamand Mills and could save the child who wondered too far and was caught by the Scourge.

Arthas had held even these small lives in contempt, using them to fuel his war machines, the nightmare-wrought Abominations. Too small to fight even as empowered Scourge minions they had been dismembered and sewn together to make larger versions of themselves. Often they were not entirely dead before this process began.

Abominations, rotting bags of pus, bile and knife-wielding arms, often had the intelligence of the children it came from – and the same unerring fierce loyalty to it's creator as those same children.

Salira had often been questions about why she never heard the cries and screams, but these she avoided neatly claiming that she was partially deaf. This wasn't true, the only real lie she ever told the Scarlet Command, and the rest of the year she had to deal with people talking overly loud around her. This she dealt with it to hear what they had to say when they though she couldn't hear them.

This particular evening a guard had come up missing. Not two days after Tirion Fordrings visit to their little fortified corner of this Light forsaken world promising he was making headway in the Undercity and the Forsaken's most dangerous weapon struck again.

The company Commander had left with a whole slew of fighters to track down the children responsible and bring them to a swift end. Meanwhile Salira was stuffing a bag with provisions and sneaking out of the tower. Sometimes being avoided by what rustles in the bushes is a good thing when one is trying to make a playdate set years ago on accident.

Outside the tower and down the wind-eroded cliffs that went on for a mile was the ocean. The Cape of Loarderon had once been a busy shipping terminal, bringing in goods from all over the world. Arthas had bombed the docks so thoroughly that there wasn't even a pylon in the sand to show where the commercial trade hub had once stood. So much for fleeing by the sea routs.

That wasn't why she was here anyway. Her family had lived in Brill working as guards in the Castle for generations. Never high ranking though prominently displayed in the throne room. Good fighters; quality people. When she had been hired she had moved out of Brill, away from the hustle and bustle of city life.

It saved her in the end. Her little house on its acre of land overlooking the cliff face and the ocean had brought her joy in the short two years it stood. Nothing remained of it now, burned to the ground for hearth-shivering reasons, but in it she had lived, loved and had her son.

The shore this day was bare of murlocs. Every now and again they swarm up out of the ocean and have to live on land. The Naga, former Night Elves twisted by demonic magic, now inhabited most of the murky depths and were not intent on sharing. The cycle went that the Naga would invade the land and the murlocs would go home. Then the Naga were driven back into the sea and the murloc came to shore. On and on.

The sand was thick today, not shimmering in the slightest as it once had. Along this very shore she had walked almost ten years ago with a little boy at her side. He would giggle and run to chase the waves back into the ocean. Then run back to her as if the waves were trying to take him out to sea. On and on.

Her booted toe sank into the wetness and slime. Chilly sea air pulled strands of prematurely graying hair from under her reddened helm and wrapped them around her face. One gloved hand went to swipe them away as the red-clad woman looked out into the ocean. She signed and felt the tightness in her chest coil.

As the hand came down another found it. Small and thin it slid into hers as if it always belonged there. Once upon a time it had, when the sky had been blue and the water had been green.

"Happy Children's Week" she whispered as tears came into her eyes. She didn't look at the owner of the hand.

The small fingers squeezed hers in that manner that meant agreement. There were rustles behind her, all around her where she couldn't see, that indicated the presence of even more of them than usual.

"You have more friends this year. I'm glad." The words choked in her throat, "I hope you're finding them and not that she's making them."

The hand shook as the body it was attached too shook vehemently in protest. Her fear was not the case this time. They had indeed been found like this. Their own families long since abandoned them, they only had each other and _her_.

Salira tried to smile so that her voice would indicate pleasure, "I brought you something." Taking back her gloved hand she knelt and removed the pack from her back. Still without looking at the silent figure that stood just out of peripheral the gauntlets were removed and bare hands fished an enchanted wand out of the bag. The little tip glowed with children-safe fire spells. When it was flicked a certain way the fire launched itself. With practice a child could make-believe they were a wizard shooting powerful fire spells but without the danger of actually setting a blaze.

Her son had loved watching the mages in town put on their shows. The silent being reached out and took the offering as she held it out to the side. The fingers did not touch hers. There was a sound of delight and then several flickering lights went flying towards desiccated plant'life' near the water's edge. More sounds of wonder and happiness followed as a small mob moved around behind her to get a closer view.

She should have known he'd bring his friends. All his friends. Each year more and more. It made her heart ache to know the facts of it and, secretly in some place of her mind no one could reach, made her glad still that they were not as yet used for scrap. Savable.

Small arms went around her back in a hug. Her hauberk prevented actually feeling the gesture but it was so familiar to have the weight around her middle for that one second that she tipped her head back to avoid having the tears run out from under her helmet.

The Scarlet Command would string her up if they knew about her yearly trip to the ocean. None of them were allowed to leave their assigned base without company. None of them were allowed to interact with the Scourge in a friendly or even neutral manor. None of them were allowed to participate in holiday or take vacations until their tour was up. Like most of them hers tour would not end until Arthas was brought down and Loarderon was free of the Scourge. There was still a living Menathil out there somewhere who had a throne to claim as far as the Scarlet Crusade was concerned, and they would ready the kingdom for the day.

The little arms released their hold and stood back. Salira knelt, fished out more items from her bag. "I didn't know how many to bring this year. I don't know if there were even enough last year. I got what I could under the circumstances." The bag was emptied of each item inside one at a time. They were handed to the side and taken back to the mob behind her one at a time.

There were squeals and gasps of delight. Despite knowing who was receiving her gifts the Scarlet woman smiled inside her helm. These tears were of joy. Nothing on the face of the planet compared to happy children. Not even when they called a place like this home.

"Spread those around, they're all I could get. I'll try to do better next year but things have been hectic back at base." She winced, "You know how it is here." There was a little giggle from somewhere that would have sent chills down her spine if it were not so innocent. Yes, they knew exactly how it was.

Several popping noises were heard followed by gasps of delight and a foul smelling smoke. Someone had discovered the Junior Engineers Kit.

Salira stood, intent on leaving. The Command would know if she were gone too long. Her break was only for two hours and it took half as long to get here to spite the watch guards. As she turned back toward the cliffs leading up to the base, pack carrying only the gauntlets now, a small hand grasped hers. The cold, hard fingers tugged at her to wait.

Teeth clenched against the pain that erupted in her heart. Yes, she had known the truth for years but this was the first time she had _felt_ it. As if reacting to her tenseness the hand withdrew suddenly. Then a hard object found it's way into her palm. Her fingers closed around it without looking.

"Be good. Do as your told. I'll be back next year. Hopefully we wont have to do this much longer. Someday soon we'll get to go home."

Slinging the pack across her back once more she went hurriedly into the woods with the intent of circling the base and coming in on the other side. She's make it look like she was returning form the Shrine of Light after prayers for the dead woman.

As if being pulled by something inside her soul she turned around to face the beach once more. It was deserted now. Small footprints too numerous to count surrounded her large booted prints in a neat semicircle. Singes on the undead plants and a green smoke in the air are all that remained of the encounter.

Movement to her right caused her to glance in that direction. Both gauntlets were back on her hands, weapon at the ready when she met eye to eye with the Banshee Queen herself. The Scourged woman stood watching from the same spot she had been even before the Scarlet woman had arrived. In her hand was the small flickering wand.

Salira ground her teeth. That this woman was too mean to find a grave and stay in it was one thing but taking toys from…

No. That wasn't it. The undead High Elf was looking over the wand, checking it. In a few seconds she handed it behind her and a shadow ran off with it into the dark forest. She was making sure it was safe.

Safe.

Salira and Sylvannas met eyes again and in that moment they were not enemies. In that moment they were just two women with a self-apointed job to do. No one had ever made Salira bring toys to the beach. No one had made Sylvanas check them for traps. Each was doing their part to make the world better and safer in their own warped ways.

For just the briefest of moments they were in harmony and understanding, in envy and longing, of each other. The one woman had lost her child and motherhood in order to provide protection for the living. The other had taken in those children and protected them _from_ the living.

"We're in need of an Orphan Matron should you ever get yourself killed. The children don't much like the idea of it; they much prefer you alive where you can bring them toys."

"I much prefer myself alive. I –" she winced again at her words, "don't intend them any harm." As if she by herself, a warrior who doesn't posses even an ounce of magic, could hope to fight that many if she ever did turn on them. Just one or two were formidable, but dozens…

The Banshee Queen chuckled softly, red eyes fading to a dim white ghost light. "The children have petitioned me on your behalf and so I granted you lenience. For ten years I have come here to watch you hand out toys to the dead. For ten years I have felt you hope it wasn't him who came, the child you lost. For ten years you have wondered if it was the last year or if you would soon join him in undeath.

All is not lost in this war. There is life in Quel'thalas again. There are trees growing on blighted ground that consume the Plague as fuel. There is a being here in Loarderon who can bring the dead back to life if they are healed of their mortal wounds before they turn. We are close, sister. We _are so very close_ to finding a cure for the Plague.

Do not lose hope."

Salira blanched and gasped at this news, chain mail shivering against the plate armor she wore, "A cure… For my boy?"

"If it is news to you that the Forsaken are working to cure the Plague then someone somewhere up your chain of command is keeping secrets."

The Scarlet woman didn't like hearing that she may have been lied to by anyone. "I have heard nothing of these things you speak of, only the murder and the pillaging done in your name." Not that she could blindly trust the Banshee Queen's words either.

Sylvannas snarled, "Of course not. How do you think they keep you fighting against me? Certainly not with the truth of things, as one High Inquisitor recently discovered."

The Scarlet woman straitened, "Explain."

A long white eyebrow went up, "I believe you forget to whom you speak."

The Scarlet woman cringed, "Please?"

"We are all pawns. I was a pawn for Silvermoon, you were a pawn to Loarderon. We both failed to beat back the Scourge and now we fight it even if we die. There is a Druid your Scarlet companions have captured. She is a key to finding the cure. I am telling you this because you have more than just some land to regain if the cure is found."

With that the Dark Lady vanished. She neither asked for help nor gave an order. As the Scarlet woman Salira Porter returned to her base and found what the Banshee Queen had said was there the sensation of a pawn being slid forward into place was unmistakable.


	35. The Commander's Questions

~*~ Chapter 33 ~*~

There were people talking as the little Druid awoke. Hushed voices from people who noticed her movements retreated further away that she not pick up what they were saying. She, however, was kaldorie and her hearing was far better than theirs.

"… no one noticed he was gone till they were gathering up the dead and he wasn't amongst them. Two of the dead rose up as Scourge though, and had to be killed again."

"Perhaps we can make a trade? The Warlock-" the woman who owned this voice was busy doing other things, her angle making it hard to hear her at points.

"The Scourge Queen cares little for that one. He's as civilian as they come!" This young man was brash, a know-it-all.

"The cat then-"

"The cat won't leave the Warlock. You've seen that yourself!"

"Perhaps," Kayas said straining to sit up under so many heavy blankets, "You should let the Warlock go and the cat will follow." It had to be Mr. Meows and Serz they spoke of; Serz being the only undead who had a cat big enough to scare a grown woman and man.

The dimly lit room was made of stone in Human fashion. The spread on the bed, the top spread to be precise, was red and cream and a bit faded. The subsequent layers were animal hide and smelled richly of kaldorie textiles.

"Where am I?" the Druid asked rubbing the sleep out of her face.

"A Scarlet enclave in Tirisfal(1)."

The Druid sat bolt upright in a panic, "A what?" Her mind raced, picturing people in red and black breaking the door down and running her threw with Holy enchanted spears for being a bearer of the Plague.

"Fear not, kaldorie, you are safe here." The woman, white haired and having an aged bearing smiled at her and brought over a bowl of steaming something. Her light purple and pink medics robes were stylish for a time period before the Scourge invaded Lordaeron.

The Druid scooted back in the bed, readying herself to attack if need be. No way she was eating anything these Scarlet Crazies gave her – not after she'd seen them in action! The way they had fought the Dark Lady, so organized it was amazing, so strong it was breathtaking to behold, had scared her with the power unleashed across that clearing in Tirisfal. It would bear the scars of the encounter for years to come.

"I'd rather like to be going." The Druid tried to smile as she made to slip out of the bed.

The woman stepped in the way. "The Commander would have a word with you, if you please." Though her tone was polite and her smile was visible, there was an air of no-choice about her words.

Irked that this little old lady was going to try and boss around a Druid of the Wild Kayas slipped out of the bed and stood to tower a head and a half over the lady. "I think I'll decline and be on my way." The weight of the collar was apparent around her neck, as was the soreness from the shocks indicating it had been tamped with while she recovered.

"You've had a hard few days, please sit and eat." This smile was more genuine. The woman meant her no harm, was just a peon placed here to convince the Druid to cooperate, as she held out the bowl of soup.

The druid shook her head, hair flipping around her shoulders as she did – someone had combed it out – "I want to see the Warlock."

The woman's smile faltered, "Um… I'm not sure we can accommodate that request." The nervous laugh went strait to the Druid's core and flicked a feral switch.

"I suggest," she hissed in that intimidating way all of her kind were capable of communicating when trying to get a point across, "that you reconsider." Furry paws thumped on the floor as she shifted into her feline form and growled low at the lady. Not a sound, but a _vibration_ that was so much more terrifying.

Stepping back suddenly the woman exclaimed, "Oh my word!" set the bowl down and left quickly. In the corner by the fire the young man had been watching wordlessly. Now he paled and sat motionless still. His fight or flight didn't exist; he was a rabbit that hoped the predator didn't see it at all.

Kayas paid him not mind and went to test the door. Inches from the knob she felt the surge of arcane power that would prevent her from opening it. Flustered she turned to the man, upright once again, and said, "Your going to let me out now."

No sooner had she seen the man blanch and stammer to a stand than the door opened and the Commander barged in, healing woman on his heels and followed by two armed guards in red and black. One was a woman, whisps of gray-brown hair escaped out from under her old steel helm. The Druid wouldn't have made note of her but that she smelled faintly of the smoke of engineering experiments gone wrong. A smell the Druid was all too familiar with by now.

The Commander looked her up and down in one sweep, taking in her leather skirt and matching top, hearthstone belt with it's small pockets sewn in and the sin'dorie collar around her neck from which the moonwell vial hung. He cursed under his breath, "You're were a pretty thing, despite what she did to you. I saw it for a second before you changed back, after you damned that boy." He spoke of her in the past tense, as if she wore a different face now.

He went over to the table and sat, leaving the guards by the door. Taking off the red helm and sitting it on the table, he ran a rough gloved hand over the stubble of his cheeks and chin. Well into his middle years the scars of the war were evident in one white eye and across that side of his face. Whether the nail marks had been human or animal was unknown, but it was obvious he had languished before they had been seen too.

Kayas remained standing, considering taking out the guards and making for an escape. If the mage who enchanted the door wasn't well seasoned, and she cant imagine how good they would be in a place like this, then she may be able to just force it open. The Commander's words slid threw her like beads threw silk. Nice and pretty, she supposed, but ultimately useless.

The saying was as old as written language, but never in her years had she ever found use of it. "You can't butter a starving girl with beads and silk, especially if they are a lie. Let me go."

The man's eyebrows rose in scorn, "You said you were a lady and yet you refuse my food and my hospitality, threaten my staff and call me a liar. Can you see why we mistrust the Forsaken? You say one thing and do another."

The Druid kept her tempter in check though her eyebrows drew downward in rising anger, "I am kaldorie, or is it that you are such a whelp as to have never seen one of my kind before?"

One gray eye studied her solemnly for several moments, thinking. "That witch doesn't care if you're a Night Elf or a Blood Elf or a High Elf. You're all fair game to her. Which makes you fair game to me."

Hints of fear rose in the Druid's stomach. Four versus one were bad odds. If he attacked her there was little chance she would win and escape. "Is that what you tell yourself when you look a sentient little girl in the eyes and take her life? That she was fair game? Do you think the Light cares if you though she was fair game?" She had almost spoken the name of her own Goddess, but figured that would not get her point across as aptly. "Murder is murder."

The Commander's gray eye grew darker, "Speak to me of murder? You? She killed that boy and you brought him back to life for her to kill again."

"No." Of that she was certain. The Dark Lady was a scheming woman but not a fool.

"Think she'll keep him alive?" He mocked her open hopefulness, "Think she's going to offer a trade?"

"Yes."

He laughed suddenly, "You are such a child. I can see it." He studied her again, this time taking in details of her body and being. "She doesn't care about children though; they make smaller and faster versions of the adults and just as expendable."

The Druid glared at him. Cold as the Banshee Queen was she had made sure the children had been safe, taking up two at a time to escape the Scarlets and silencing the casters who would have killed the third.

"She sends them after the women, to bring more into her fold. No doubt in that stinking sewer of hers there is a woman waking up who was once our allie and will now serve her. She wont have a choice and neither will you when the Banshee Queen gets ready to lose you on the living."

"No."

Frowning he sat back, crossing arm across a mail-clad chest, "Why not? How could you resist?"

Suddenly the Druid understood. There _were_ no shades of gray. It was either Forsaken or not-Forsaken, it was either Scourge or not-Scourge. "Make no mistake, Scarlet Commander, I see no difference between the Scourge and the Forsaken, only in which they follow. But I do not belong to the Dark Lady, "she just about choked on the word 'belong', "I have a different owner, one who would not see me be used as a tool for destruction." _I hope I'm not wrong about that…_

Though ears seemed to be listening it seemed as if no one in the room heard a thing. "And what about the boy's fate?" The Commander asked, dismissing her statements as if it were so much smoke in his face.

"I care not. He was your responsibility and you are the one who failed him." Her conscious called her a bold-faced liar; she very much cared what happened to the man, though she wouldn't allow her failure to purge the Plague from his system to haunt her forever. Amongst the kaldorie one was responsible for the people under their command and no one else, even if someone who tries to help them fails.

When trying to get a rise out of her did not work the Commander switched tactics, "I've had word that the she-witch Corrosa has attacked the Scarlet Monestary, our most holy sanctuary. Do you know anything about this?"

"Just as you say, that she was there."

The Commander kicked out a chair with a thick booted foot, "Sit. Tell me what you know."

She remained standing, "That she was there. Nothing else." She judged the distance between herself and the door again, wondering once more if escape would be possible.

"How did you come by this information?"

"The Dark Lady said she sent her there." The two guards looked alert enough. Maybe if she shifted into a bear and knocked the one down and then into a cat and mangled the other a few times she could wound them enough to get the door open…

"Why would she tell you when you claim you are not one of her people?"

The trap snapped close. _Oh crap. _"I decline to answer on the grounds that I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't and at least if you kill me you'll destroy my body so I don't turn for good." _I wont get that grace out of the Dark Lady now._

The Scarlet Commander moved so much faster than the little Druid though possible. One instant in the chair and the next having her by the wrist and pulling her threw the door. As soon as the spell-locked door opened the sounds of screaming and moaning rushed threw born on a current of infection and decay.

Putting a hand over her nose the frightened Druid tried not to go out the door but the man held her firmly and pulled as one who was very used to things writhing in his grasp. She knew what it was the moment the sounds and smells had hit her. Two weeks she had spent in the Plaguelands, fighting Scourge and Trolls and plagued animals and feral Humans.

The nightmares she had, dreams so vivid they were still in her mind even as she woke to the smell of the damp death and the taste of the flesh-ash, had been so frequent and crippling that the Priest had acquired a drought for her so she might sleep a few hours of peaceful dreamless sleep each night. She had taken it gratefully, though it's effect was not as long-lasting as either of them had hoped.

Outside was a horror scene the likes of which Kayas had never imagined in all her life, but had been present in every nightmare every night of her two weeks in the Plaguelands. A torture ground. There were men and women on racks, in cages, over fires and on spikes. Chains hung threw the air suspending the dead and dying from trees, under the waters of the pond and piles of dead bodies were stacked for burning… some of them still moved, though alive or undead was unknown.

All of it in a field surrounded by high walls of white and red the tortured went on and on. Men in Priest's robes, women in scarlet reds and even a couple of the children screaming as they were consumed in fire. Torturers with knives and pokers and pliers bent to their work doing whatever their warped and sordid minds could come with to extract any ounce of information from the living and undead alike.

Kayas doubled over and threw up in the dirt, the feel of so many lives and un-lives smashing into her senses all at once, making the budding Druid in here scream in panic. Her stomach heaved again and again but nothing more came up after the first round.

The Scarlet Commander pulled her closer, so close he could surely smell the acid of her breath, "You'll answer my questions or, by the Light, you're going to find out just how long the kaldorie survive in the care of a High Inquisitor."

~*~ End Notes ~*~

(1). Pre-Cata there was only one Scarlet Stronghold in Tirisfal, but now there are two. I've added the post-Cata stronghold into this story since I think it was ret-conned in and was always suppose to be there. If not then the Forsaken are losing ground to the Scarlet and either way this works for the story.

(2) Missing note. I made a note here and when I came back to double check it was properly placed in the story I could not find it.


	36. The Field of Agony

~*~ Author's Note ~*~

WARNING: Ambiguous descriptions of torture, toned down significantly for those that don't get their rocks off on that kind of stuff.

Rating Changed: T to M in lue of themes I don't think young teens should be subject to.

~*~* Chapter 35 ~*~

The Commander drug his prisoner around the grounds showing her each and every contraption and explaining in detail how each was used. The explanations were not necessary as each and every instrument was currently in use. Some of them had lines.

"Now," He intoned over the screaming of one woman who insisted she didn't know where her daughter was, "you will tell me truths or I will put you on that one over there and see how you like having your arms and legs pulled out of their sockets one tick at a time."

The little Druid, drained of all emotion and blankly staring strait ahead as he spoke, said nothing. She had shut down halfway threw the tour, turning inward on herself and hiding in her own mind. He could make her walk but he couldn't make her _see_. Or feel.

His gloved hand connected with her cheek hard enough to send her flying into the table with the woman. When she touched the woman's bare and bloody leg the pain she was feeling shot threw the Druid, causing both of them to cry out. She couldn't not feel if she were touching; she hadn't learned how to do that yet.

Sitting down roughly on the ground she glared up at him, hatred burning in her glowing yellow eyes, "You're as bad as _she_ is," The Commander growled at her to hear himself being compared to the Dark Lady, "Smacking me around and commanding that I do again what I did in Quel'thalas or you'll do horrible things to me. I cannot do it for her and a I cannot do it for you either!" _The Priest betrayed me when he left me in the Undercity but I cannot betray him in kind. The look on his face…_

"And what exactly have you done? Planted some trees? Healed some sentinels? Nothing that your tree hugging kind don't already do."

In the back of her mind a voice mocked _…I'm a Druid and I plant maaagical seeds…_ It did not surprise her that the Dark Lady had no respect for the ways of the Druids, being a former High Elf, but that these Humans, who by all rights should be her allies, seemed to mock her kind as well made her think ill of their upbringing. _Would that your mother could see you now. Though I'm sure the woman is long dead and on a glacier in Northrend somewhere._

A voice floated across the field, over the screaming of pain and pleas for mercy, "Did you ever think, Lord Commander, to offer sanctuary?"

There, over by one electric torture machine borrowed from the Scourge in the Plaguelands who used it to reanimate abominations, were some of the cages of prisoners lined up for interrogation. Barbed and ugly cages to be sure. Not all of the prisoners were alive and amongst the undead captives were more than a few mind-lost zombies that were scattered all over Tirisfal.

The Commander grunted and hauled her close as he went to see who was talking. The two guards from earlier followed as they had been following the whole time. The woman seemed to want to put the Druid down rather than show her around what had been dubbed The Field of Agony. The other guard spoke overly loud for some reason, as if he suspected the Commander of being partially deaf. He kept adding commentary about each device on display.

Behind the table was a fair odd sight. Half a dozen little children in red, very much alive, formed a half circle in front of one of the cages. Between them and the bars sat the biggest black cat non-mount that must exist and inside the cage sat Serz Huzad on a little red cushion and sipping a cup of tea.

The Commander glared at the children, who scattered like the four winds when he bellowed, "Which one of you half-useless runts gave that thing amenities?"

From half a dozen hiding places half a dozen giggles went up. It struck the Druid as odd that the Commander let children around people being tortured and at the same time condemned the Dark Lady for letting her own charges kill. _Hypocrite_. Not that she condoned children being used as weapons of war, dead or alive.

The Commander walked as close to Serz Huzad's cage as he could manage and glared down at the man. The enormous feline between them hissed and lashed his tale in a warning. "And you would be Serz Huzad" A statement of fact, not a question.

Standing on bony legs the undead man stuck his hand threw the bar and said with a smile, "Quite right."

The Commander didn't take Serz hand, but was looking him up and down. Bloody, torn, stained, ragged. Barely clothing at all. "Warlock," he spat on the ground, "Demon filth. Even your name reeks of the Fel. But I have heard of you; even Fordrin has heard of you."

Serz took a sip of his tea, "I'm a paltry excuse for a Warlock. My teacher, poor thing, spent more time telling me that I'm useless than anything, so that is what people started calling me."

"Your name is Demonic for 'you're useless'?" The man grinned, crossed his arms, "I can see that. Very few of the Scourge who actually call themselves Forsaken has a price on their heads set by their own Queen."

Serz Huzad beamed like it was the highest compliment to be called a traitor to one's Queen. "I do try."

The little Druid blurted out, "If she wanted you dead then why didn't she kill you back there in the clearing? She had more than a chance."

The Commander looked at her like she was the thickest thing he had ever seen. "Even amongst my own troops I have the dim-witted and downright stupid. How do you think we came to hold him if she valued his undead life at all?"

"You traded?" Kayas was more than a little miffed at being called stupid but she genuinely did not understand what was going on. She had assumed Serz was as Forsaken as the rest though, how did the healing woman put it? Ah yes… _civilian_.

"This one is more use to us than the other one is to the Dark Lady. A foot soldier for _Serz Huzad_? You bet your Scourged ass I traded!" He motioned to the pleading victims around him, "The information he's going to give us is worth gold to the copper were getting from this lot!"

Serz took his hand back the same time the great cat growled deep in his belly, "You will get nothing out of me, Commander. I have been tortured before, and by those far more skilled than you."

The Commander grinned, "Want to bet?"

For his part, dirty and in a barbed cage, Serz stood up strait and looked the Commander in the face. In her mind's eye the little Druid could see the man he had been once… almost. Medium build, broad shouldered, fair brown hair and … green?… eyes. She could almost see his green eyes.

"Yes, Commander," the Forsaken man said, "I will take that bet. Have you hard about the Monastery?"

The Commander went stiff, cheeks reddening in a rising tide of rage, "Yes, Scourge, I have heard news of the Monastery. Commander Mograin… High Inquisitor Whitemane… Even the Houndmaster!"

"The Dark Lady sent her to the Monastery seeking to replace men lost in the Undercity." It seemed he didn't have to elaborate on who _her_ was, or what exactly a Monastery had to do with his history of torture. "Men killed because the Dark Lady laid a hand on this Druid. Harm her or me and the Warlock will come _here_ next. And I promise you there will be no sheath for her this time, with her keeper fair spent."

Several things clicked at once in the Druid's head. Someone had said something about what the Priest did in the Undercity but it didn't matter to her at the time and she had not though about it. Now she had time to think and the pieces of fact and information presented themselves and lined up in a neat little row:

The Priest had killed the Forsaken for some reason. The Dark Lady had needed to replace them. Being as the Warlock had been hurt in the fight, the Dark Lady had an excuse to keep her in the Undercity… to separate her from the Priest so he couldn't – as Serz put it – sheath her. She had sent the Warlock to the Monastery … and the Dark Lady had tracked Kayas down to deliver the message. Had made the cause of it all deliver the message.

The Priest had to go into the Monastery and drag the Warlock out, threw whatever destruction she caused knowing full well all those deaths were his fault. No wonder so many emotions had warred inside him when the Druid had delivered the message.

_Why do I feel guilty?_

The Commander took a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to reach threw the bars and rip the undead man into pieces with his bear hands. "The Dark Lady will lavish me with praise," the fuming man spat, "if I but present your head to her! You tell me lies if you think she will send her Warlock here for the likes of you."

Serz smiled and tilted his head, "No, Commander," He leaned in towards the Scarlet man, something slick shimmering threw his gaze and for a moment Kayas saw _darkness_ in this Warlock's soul. "Corrosa is a weapon the likes of which few have seen. Every weapon has its sheath though. This one's sheath happens to be the owner of this Druid here. Corrosa will come here to get me; she cares little for the Druid. But she will not be stopped because he will want his Druid back. Do you understand? _She will not be stopped_."

For her part the Druid looked back and forth between the Warlock and the Scarlet Commander. She didn't know why the Warlock would come to Serz' rescue, or how she would know that he were hurt to begin with. Behind her the screaming had all but died out. Every inquisitor was cleaning their instruments or adjusting their tables, double-checking written facts their victims had claimed, all in pretense to hear the conversation going on over by the abomination reanimator.

For a moment the Commander looked to just walk away and let the Warlock finish waiting his turn in line. Finally he quipped, "I know about the Priest the Warlock travels with. You all call him her _sheath_." He looked absolutely disgusted at some though in his head but did not elaborate. "If he is spending his time pulling her back from a murderous rage right now than I do not want to give her reason to attempt to break the leash again and come here." His voice dipped low, "They say Whitemane's corpse is the only one missing from the Monastery…." He shuttered.

"Which is why it would be very beneficial for you to give the Druid sanctuary and not harm her. Or me." The undead man looked as if this were the best idea in the world and to disagree would mean one was either insane or being contrite on purpose. "As long as we are safe and unharmed then you can rest assured Corrosa will not come for us. At least not for a few days till her keeper is rested."

The Commander spat on the ground and rubbed a hand up and down his scared face, "The last time I made a bargain with the Scourge it cost us Lordaeron Castle and the Princess. Give me one good reason to think anything you said is true."

The Forsaken man stuck his hand threw the bars again and smiled a smile that lit up his corner of the Field of Agony, though his voice remained low and no one but the three – or more if you count the children – could hear, "Hello, Commander Hillburn, I'm Sean of Darrowshire. Lovely to make your acquaintance."

The Commander spun from the cage, releasing the startled Druid and began kicking and cussing anything or anyone who got in his way. "By the Light, that ignorant _Paladin!_ What was Fordrin thinking?"

Serz stood watching the man, a smile as feral as any she had seen and eyes glittering with darkness she was sure he kept caged otherwise, hand still threw the bar. "If you please, Commander, I think your guest would like some better accommodations; as would I."

The red-faced commander returned shortly, "And what reason would you have for remaining here and not trying to spirit her away?" He pointed to the Druid.

"Why, I should think it is rather obvious. Sanctuary is sanctuary. She has great cause to join you in your pursuits."

Kayas shook her head vehemently; "Join… the Scarlet-" _don't say 'marmots'_ "-Campaign? I don't think we'll get along." Hard as it was to block out the suffering around her the Druid could never, ever condone torture. There were just better ways to get information; ones that did not leave permanent mental and physical scars.

"We don't let Scourge into the Campaign." The Commander was very, very angry. Though she felt the scarred man didn't mean just her, the why eluded both her and the great cat. Mr. Meows made an inquiring noise and sneezed into his paw. Serz reached down and stroked him behind his hears and the large eyes folded with a pleased rumble. Claws as long as Kayas' hand was wide raked into the ground softly as big paws flexed, a non-verbal warning.

"And doesn't that just burn you up?" Mocking was not a tone of voice the Druid liked on the Warlock, Fel-damned as he was. She wasn't used to hearing him talk like that, even if she had only known him a couple days. "You would throw away the very thing that will be your salvation just because it contains the Plague? Have you truly become that much of a zealot that you will gouge out your eye to spite your face?"

"Shut your rotting jaws, Scourge. I'll not hear that talk from you!"

Serz took his hand back, "Give her a babysitter then." For a third time his hand came up threw the bars, a perfectly manicured nail pointing directly at the Scarlet Warrior woman behind the commander. The Woman stiffened even as the words were being said, "Let that one keep an eye on her, keep her close. She's female so your young ward here wont mind he being there for the bathing and such."

The Commander was silent for a moment. The Druid chanced a look over her shoulder at the woman. She looked hostile: ready to breath fire and enflame the Warlock, Commander and all. Her refusal was pending her superior's agreement, but already on the tip of her tongue.

The Warlock was coxing as the one-eyed man considered, "Plague tainted yes, but still a Druid. Her counterparts in Thunder Bluff have already made great advances in fighting back the Scourge and the Plague. Lend her your support and your protection from the Dark Lady and she may yet grace you with advances of her own."

After an excruciatingly long silence in which everyone and everything had fallen silent the Commander relented, "I will try. Fordrin had gone to find the children who had killed my guard and would have brought them to justice had the Dark Lady not been there, I'm sure."

Kayas disagreed, but kept her peace.

"Yes," the man stroked is beard stubble, "This may very well work out. Assuming you can keep up your end Warlock, and not bring that damned _other_ Warlock down on us." He moved to take a key form his belt and unlock the cage, "Get out of here and send Fordrin my regards."

The woman looked as if she would rather turn Serz' head into pulp with her two handed mace than guard a Scourged Druid. "I think not!" The woman spat. "Make one of the mages guard her. Better yet one of the Priests!"

"You'll do it, Salira," her superior dismissed her suggestion like so much steam from a kettle, "See to it that she doesn't go anywhere she's not suppose to. That is," and he turned back to the Druid, "if you accept sanctuary here in return for whatever services you might provide us."

Sinking and rising feelings both warred inside the Druid till she could get to her feet shaking. "I – um – that is. Ok." What choices she had were between the racks or the seething Scarlet woman. Talk about a rock and a hard place, as the Humans liked to say.

The Scarlet woman was fuming inside her dented metal helmet, streams of gray-brown hair shifting in and out as she tried to control her breathing. Surging forward she grabbed the Druid by the back of her top and hauled her forward, almost dragging her away. "By your leave, Commander." She snapped, though she was already past him with the Druid when he gave it to her.

"Common, don't drag your feet. The Commander has a place where he puts… guests. I think the straw and feces have even been swept out sometime this year."


	37. Cid Edgar

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

I tried a perspective change in this chapter.

And not just form third to first person.

~*~ Chapter 36 ~*~

The Undercity

I was a fool. I was stupid. I was a stupid fool and now my day has come. I sit in the dark under the remains of half a dozen people hanging in a net above me. In the corner the Grand Master Apothecary is conspiring with his lesser as to how they will go about gutting me.

I don't know what I was thinking when I opened my mouth and damned the Banshee Queen, but as promised I rue the day. If only I had some feet to kneel at to recant my brashness. How had I ever though that the color red would save me from her wrath? How had I ever though the Light was stronger than the Queen of the Scourge?

Sitting in the dark and waiting I don't even feel the blood dripping down onto me. Not all the victims in line to become abominations are dead it seems. None of them in that net above me would trade places, I know. They know it as well.

In the other corner the Queen sits staring at me. Alive and plague tainted, it shouldn't be possible. She has said as much, has even gone so far as to cut me with her damned blades to see that I still bleed red. I had tried to plead, to scream for help, to fall at her booted feet and beg for mercy but I could not. Her grip over me is too strong and I know for certain now that everything she had told us is true. The Forsaken are sentient; the Forsaken want revenge; the Forsaken are not Scourge - but what a terrible way to finally see the truth.

Finally she rises to her feet and comes to me where I sit huddled in the corner. She kneels down and I think she is beautiful. Somewhere in the back of my mind I have always though she was beautiful.

"You were a champion of Loraederon (1) once. I was a champion of Silvermoon. We both failed to beat back the Scourge and now we fight each other. I would have it differently. Would you?"

I look up at her with hollow eyes and a hollow heart. Three days I have been down in this sewer, breathing its spores and mold and sitting in the acids and corrosions while I awaited my fate.

"I fight him even in my dreams, Lady. He has a Death Knight where once I had a sister –" My words catch in my throat as my eyes cloud with tears. Her lovely face swims before me and I reach out to touch it. Who's face it is I touch I know not, but the alchemists in the corner stop what they are doing and watch to make sure I do not mean to harm their Queen. The skin is cool but the eyes are fiery hot.

"I would see him pay for every life he has taken," she says. "Mine, yours, the women my Angels kill. I would see him brought low, to taste the ashes of defeat and watch his people and his empire crumble before him as he once made me do. I should be sitting a throne in Silvermoon right now, not a dias in his family's rotting crypts."

All I can do is bob my head up and down like some dumb(2) puppet. It hurts to even talk, my throat raw from crying and screaming I don't even remember doing. The blood dribbles down my face.

"What is your name, champion?"

It takes me a moment to find my voice, "Cid Edgar. They called me Cigar, on account of my dad made cigars and I always smelled like tobacco from working in the drying barns." I hung my head in shame, "I was no champion, only a farmer's son."

"And yet you survived where so many did not. What do you call that?"

I look her in the eye, "I call that knowing where to swing a scythe, Lady. Take the head off and they die. Simple."

"You would be Cigar... Nekov?"

This made me sit strait up and this time I noticed the blood when it dripped down my head. Hastily I wiped it off, "No one has called me that in … a decade or more. Where did you come by it?"

The black mouth smirked, "He said it true. Every time they lose a champion I gain one. They called you Cigar in your youth but when you lead the defense of the Agamand Mills at the age of fourteen they started calling you Nekov, a bastardized version of 'neck off' because that is where you always swung your weapon (3). You lead the defense of the mills and when you were betrayed and the dead came swarming over it was you who lead the survivors out. The ones smart enough not to try to salvage the place. And you say you are no champion?"

"I lost, Lady. What kind of champions are we if we lose?"

She though about that for a second. It seemed strange to have the Banshee Queen actually considering words that had fallen from my unworthy lips, especially after my brashness three days past. I had been foolish then. I was not foolish now. The irony that I had mocked her for losing against Arthas himself when I had barely held out against some of his weaker minions was not lost on me.

"I was a pawn for Silvermoon. You were a pawn for the Agamand family. I have several of them, and their servants, amongst the Forsaken. I have heard their stories, each and every one. They hail you as a champion. They tell stories of you to the new Forsaken, saying that Nekov will come after them if they think to act as the Scourge do and go terrorizing the living without my consent."

_Without your consent._ _Such an odd woman._ "I have become a boogy man for the undead? How odd." I shook my head at the absurdity of it.

"I would have you taking off more undead heads, if you would become a champion again."

So many feelings swirled threw me at once, least of all dread, "I… don't understand. You would have me kill your own? Or the Scourge? In truth I never understood the difference."

She would not want to hear this, I knew, but I had to be said, "You want to rid the living from Loraederon the same as Arthas did. You kill the living and raise them up from the dead, the same as Arthas did. You lie about your intentions and you hide your truths, the same as Arthas did. If you can tell me what the difference is, and if it is not exactly what I think they are, then I will kill any number of undead in your service if you would but grant me your forgiveness." My words were soft and true. I would have her forgive me. I knew what it meant to fight the Scourge. So many more of them then there were of you and I had no right to point out that she had failed, especially when I had failed just the same.

"The difference, my fallen champion, is that I give them a choice. Each and every one I have given the choice. If they would follow me then I would have them, and if not then I would let them go."

"You let them leave, you say?" She confirmed, dark hood bobbing in and out of the shadows of the room. If she were this beautiful in death what had she looked like alive when her cheek had been rosy with life and her eyes had sparkled blue with laughter? "What becomes of them who would not serve you?"

"They make their own way without my protection. Some of them form up and ride down the Scourge wherever they find a weakness. Some seek the Light and the final end. Some of them seek their families and I am even told that some have been accepted. But some of them turn against me..."

It was obvious she was disgusted by the prospect of the living and the undead dwelling side-by-side. Myself, I could not imagine it. A husband returning to his living wife and saying, "Yes, I was a murderous thing under the Lich King, but now I am free and I would have you again, my love!" and she would scream and slap him and flee. I could not think that she could embrace such a man. Or a child or a brother. But then I remember… I had a sister once…

"And what of the ones who turn against you?"

"They raid my supply lines, sell my secrets to the Scarlet Zealots, kill my Angels, taint my apothecary's experiments, "she motioned to the men behind her who had since gone back to work, "and worse – much worse! – They constantly attack the living that would cooperate with me. They kill my messengers and taint the food I would send them; they slaughter the horses and poison the hounds; they-" her voice caught "-the things they do to the children. I would rather the Scarlets have the children than them!"

My brow furrowed, "This is the first I have heard of any of these things, Lady. I have been amongst the Scarlet Crusade since the Battle for the Castle and never have I heard that there are undead who fight other undead." My mind was spinning, "If we knew that there were any sort of sentient-ness in any of the Plague tainted, that they would fight you with us, we would have made them allies surely. But then… why do they kill the living? Why do they not join the Campaign?"

She sighed, having explained this many, many times before, "They cannot be Scarlet because your people shun the undead with a zealotous passion that no amount of reason can undo. They would join you if you would have them. I seek a cure for the plague and I could have it by now if not for these undead and their meddling in my affairs!"

I perked up to hear this, "A cure?" _For my sister… _"This is the fist I have heard of this, Lady. I would do whatever it took to find a cure, if indeed you are searching for one. Our Commander has said nothing of this to us either."

"Of course not. How do you think they keep you fighting against me? Certainly not with the truth of things."

This made me mad, to think that I had been lied to. Not that I would suddenly begin trusting the object of my fear and nightmares out of a desire to find the cure but… "If you are looking for a cure, truly trying to stop the plague and not propagate it as we have been told, then I am yours to command. What will you do about these undead who seek to stop you finding what you seek?"

A brilliant smile bloomed on the Queen's face, red eyes glittering with pleasure, "I promised them a boogy man. I intend to keep my promise."

That night in the filthy crypts of Undercity a man who had once been Cid Edgar knelt at the feet of the Banshee Queen and rose as Nekov, her newest champion. He rode forth on a black warhorse, wielding a black scythe and dressed crown to toe in black mail and leather. Over his chest was a fitted tabard of the Undercity, bearing the falcon shield and shattered face of a crying woman. The man mused, as he dashed down the lane towards the Agamand Mills in search of traitors(4), that he could swear he felt sliding sensations as if he were being pushed into place.

~*~ End Notes ~*~

I'm quit fond of butchering the spelling of this location.

Dumb: Originally meant one is incapable of speech. Mute. In this case I used this word to mean both mute and stupid. See what I did thar?

This is actually short for Kalashnikov, but I didn't see how a Soviet Russian firearm had any place in WoW (despite my reasons for choosing this name) so I worked in part of his back story at the Agamand Mills to explain how he got this nickname.

Quest: "The Haunted Mills"


	38. The Scarlet Enclave

~* Author's Note *~

These chapters are leaking longer and longer.

Hope yall done mind the fluctuating lengths.

~*~ Chapter 37 ~*~

Salira

The Druid's body floated face down, the heel a plate-clad boot hard on her bony lower back. Over her the Scarlet Warrior Salira Porter was frowning, eyebrows draw together. "Had enough?" she inquired, bouncing her boot up and down and causing waves of water to break the otherwise smooth surface around them.

No response.

Grumbling, the woman reached down and hauled the Druid up by her arm, annoyed and perturbed. "That's enough!" If the young elf didn't respond soon Salira was going to hit her again.

The Druid's yellow eyes fluttered open. "I told you!" she barked out while running a hand threw sopping hair, and then hauling her self into the boat with her glorified babysitter.

From the banks of the pond Mr. Meows' ears twitched. He had declined the invitation to get in the boat on account of he didn't like it when the land under him moved. Now he was regretting that decision, testing the waters with his paws and realizing he would have to swim to get there if his intervention was needed. He yowled in annoyance, not the first one of day.

Salira threw towels at the bony Druid, not bothering to open them or help pat down the unruly Night Elf whelp. _Stupid child… _

The Druid didn't look at her as she rung dull black hair out over the edge of the boat and then proceeded to towel herself off. The leathers she had been issued by the Commander were neatly folded in one corner. Salira kept her eyes averted and tried not to notice how much of a woman's body this child had. Hips and a bust already, and what was generally referred to as a _bakers's buns_ (1) in the ghetto sections of Human towns. Though she was almost as tall as a grown Human it was obvious she was still a child by the standards Night Elves were measured by.

"Can we say this experiment was a success?" The Druid asked glancing at an angle. The orbs behind the light of her eyes were unbroken and white, giving them a very disturbing look. Most of the Forsaken didn't even have eyeballs. That wasn't even as disturbing as the ones who did… because it made one wonder where they got them.

"Yes. I'll write a full report to the Commander detailing how you failed to drown yourself. Again." The sarcasm made the Druid frown but the Warrior didn't care.

Two days in a row they had been out on the lake. It was chilly here and Salira didn't like it. Her preferred source of water was the ocean… or had been before the entire length of coast had been soaked with Plague and overrun with Murlocs and Naga. Of course, the lake was preferable to other experiments the Druid had concocted…

On the shore of the lake sat a crowd of Scarlet onlookers, civilians mostly, but sometimes a soldier or a Priest. They had come in a drove to watch the Druid do one of her experiments, which annoyed Salira to no end. Normally she could keep them away or on the other side of a locked door but on a day like this there was no way to keep them from gawking and whispering.

Salira frowned, "Hurry. I want to get inside." She pointed to the sky and the storm blowing in.

The little Druid looked up at the offending weather for a moment and then back down at her dressing, "Won't be here for another two days. It's going to be fierce though." The Kal'dorie knew the outdoor weather better than just about anyone, being one of the few races that didn't live in weather-locked areas. Khaz Modan, always locked in the winters of snowy mountains and Eversong wood, forever locked in eternal autumn (2) but the elven lands of Darkshore and Ashenvale knew every season.

_Why do I get the feeling you just spoke some kind of prophecy? _

~*~ Kayas ~*~

Salira made a fire as soon as they were back to her room. The large hearth, quarried from Alterac granite before the wars, was big enough to cook in though it was never used for that purpose. Kayas offered to help but was hushed and waved away. The Scarlet woman never let her do anything she deemed manual.

"Sit, rest." Salira slipping out the door and fetching dinner came after these short orders.

The Druid mused, as she sat by the fire and warmed her hands, that the Scarlet Warrior had certainly put on a good show for the Commander and likewise kept it up whenever anyone else was nearby. _Harumphing_ and storming off, her plate gauntlet digging into the fabric of the Druid's top and twisting it so tightly the cheap leather had warped. As soon as they had been out of sight however…

"I'm going get you out of here as soon as possible," she hissed to her charge, "but until then you have to stay out of sight and make it look like you're on their side."

The Druid had thought about that as they moved threw the enclave. The place was beautiful. It looked exactly like Kayas had seen Human towns look in the picture books and projection crystals her teachers used. All the roofs were red and everywhere was the Scarlet banner. The streets were clean, the trees were alive and the grass was green. Once more the land was flowing and happy, having been purged of the Plauge or not infected to begin with.

Everyone they passed was happy and smiling. That the Druid had a guard escorting her was the only thing that stopped the citizens from attacking. Never in her life had she seen so many Humans in one place! They were strange looking, oddly bright in red and white, brown and yellow. On occasion there was the blue robe of a medic or the purple robe of a Dalaran mage but most of them wore the red and white colors of the Scarlet Campaign.

There were children everywhere and parents with them. They chased butterflies and stopped to point at birds. It was a paradise the likes of which the Druid had never seen. Though there was a war raging all around them they were safe here. The Commander kept them all safe.

Which, her guard told her latter as they were climbing the stairs to her suit, is why they all allowed him to do whatever he wanted to in order to keep this illusion up. The field of tortured prisoners had been locked behind arcane shields and walls so that the smell and sounds didn't ruin the atmosphere. The traitors were hung from the far walls where no one would be able to see them. The only news they ever got was from the Bishop up in the Cathedral that dominated the landscape and he almost never gave them anything but the assurance that they were gaining ground and winning the war against the Scourge.

Which is why the parents should encourage their daughters and sons to join the army as soon as possible, so that they could help speed progress across Loraederon.

"You have no idea how many parents have done just that only to never see their children again." Salira was a very practical woman. "The ones who ask too many questions go missing. The Commander says deserter or traitor or says they fall to the Scourge but we know the truth. We're not nearly as naive as they want to believe we are."

The room she had been led to, in the top of an imposing red and white tower was beautifully appointed. Whoever had been in here before had good taste. The Druid had been told bluntly that they weren't coming back so she could do whatever she wanted with the place. It was called the Traitor's Tower because originally it was used to house nobility before their execution.

_Lovely. _"Why do you allow this if you know it's wrong?"

"What choice do we have? We stand a better chance staying together, even if it means culling the weak to make sure there are not soft spots for the Scourge to drive a knife in seeking the heart."

That summed it up nicely. They could divide and strike out on their own and fall one group at a time or they could stick together and survive, no matter the cost.

"And yet you say you're going to get me out of here. Doesn't that make you a weak spot?"

Her clothing had been taken away dirty and torn and replacements sent a few hours latter. Though the first day had been spent in awkwardly cut Human-styled clothing, by the second day the leatherworkers had taken her measurements from the old and had a set of Scarlet garb designed with a Kaldorie Druid in mind: a linen and leather number in Scarlet red and forest green. It was designed in the High Elf style, with flowing lines of green leaves and embroidered insignia of the Campaign over the heart. It felt odd to be wearing trousers again after so many months in dress and skirt.

"I'm just another pawn. So are you. The Commander has gone too far, threatening to kill you when you could very well be the cure for the Plague. I don't very well know if you are but I'll take my chances with you out there rather than in here."

_Don't trust the Commander_. This unspoken truth nagged at the Druid, much as she wanted to believe his promises. She felt as if there were eggshells under her feet whenever anyone else was around and she needed so much to not break those eggshells else she would plummet downward and land on a table in the Field of Agony.

_I'm not a pawn. I'm a Druid. _She was getting tired of hearing that she was just a piece on someone's playing field. If it were Kaldorie chess(3), she would not mind. But this was Forsaken, Sin'dorie and Scarlet Zealot chess and she very much minded! "I won't leave without the Warlock."

For his part Serz Huzad had been told to leave the compound. Instead he stayed, always watched but never harmed. Why was never revealed to the Druid and every time she asked and someone began to tell her Serz would cut them off and change the subject. At one point he suggested she might try to leave if 'all my secrets are revealed' and that shut anyone up for good. No one would speak of it now and yet they did not make him leave.

She didn't like this secretive side of the Warlock. One should not treat their undead existence as if they were still bread and butter of high society. At least not insofar as not telling other Plague-bearing beings how to avoid being tortured by the Scarlets so easily!

They put him to work instead. It had been two days up in the tower, without one tug on the collar or visit from the Dark Lady, when the Druid had finally broken down and asked her keeper what became of the Warlock, Ser Huzad. She was lead outside to the Practice Fields.

The enclave was walled off in sections. Each could be defended on their own, complete with wells and underground tunnels leading to every corner of the settlement. This particular field was next to the Field of Agony and was of similar size. Judging by the shambling horrors chained to tethers all over the place it was where the Scarlets practiced their arts on the undead, on the Scourge and on the Forsaken. There were even living beings there, Humans mostly but at least one Dwarf, but none of them Scarlet and so all fair game. She had flinched and walled herself off at the screams of the sentient around her, a little disturbed at how good she was getting at it.

Serz Huzad was in a small section of yard walled off from the rest by high bushes and flowing carpets of flowers. They were living, where he was not. Unable to have his request to visit a tailor honored he had been forced to keep his ragged robe and all it's bloody stains. They stood in stark contrast to the dozen or so children surrounding him, all ranging in age from three to twelve, if Kayas was any judge of Human age. There wasn't a grown person to be seen; a fact that made Kayas wonder at their sanity since Serz was very much an undead thing which all of them feared so much.

"Again!" The Warlock peepd at one little girl dressed in Novice Priestess robes of white and blue. She wound her up face in concentration, flashed her hands threw the air in practiced motions and spoke a Holy word.

Serz Huzad sidestepped and didn't bother to look at the fizzle of Light that would have hit him in one shoulder "Again!" he said, all the patience of a drill sergeant or perhaps a parent.

This time he stepped the other way and again it fizzled in the air near his left ear. "Your watching where I'm standing, not where I'm about to move. By the time your spell gets to me I will be out of the way. Again!"

"Not if you're shackled first!" some snotty little boy in the back taunted. He was almost the oldest there and farther along I his training as a Priest than the little girl. The girl looked stricken, wondering why she hadn't though of that.

Seeing the look of self-loathing on her face caused the undead man's eyebrows to rise in challenge. Stepping behind himself with one food, he neatly turned in military style to face the boy. "By all means. Show her how it's done." The Druid did not welcome the wondering that came at such a maneuver. For all his seeming charm he had a military past; had worn Quel'dorie hunting leathers and … marched with hordes of Scourge armies to ravage the sanity of the living.

The boy grinned, red hair standing out starkly against his robes of white and green. "Just watch!" His arms moved like lighting in the air, showy arks of golden Light feathering out on either side as he wound the spell up.

Serz yawned, not impressed. This blatant show of disrespect made the boy hurry his spell along. Sigils done being traced, he took the caster stance that would allow the Holy Light to filter to all his power points and opened his mouth to speak the Holy word-

-only too late to realize the Warlock's curse had been upon him from the beginning. The boy would not speak. "You're dead." The Warlock said. "Never open your mouth while a Warlock has their sights on you. If they can pin a voice to a soul they can silence that voice."

A swift hand movement and the boy could speak again. "You cheated!" he whined.

Serz turned to the little girl, "How did I do it?" he inquired.

"You're dead. You don't need to yawn. You did it then."

The Warlock smiled, warmth in his yellow glowing eyes; the Novice beamed.

The Druid left as quietly as she had come, not wanting to disturb them. It was disturbing enough to watch a Scourged man teaching Priests how to fight him as it was!

She returned to her room and Salira had brought her food, "So you're only being nice to me because you think I can cure the plague?" The Druid had asked her guard. The woman shook her head as if she didn't now for certain why.

"They crossed a line when they sanctioned the torture of living children." And that was that.

~* End Notes *~

(2) According to one source Eversong is locked in eternal spring but Blizzard recently retcon this to make it eternal autumn. I went with the most recent seeing as most of the trees have yellow and red leaves, indicating autumn more than spring.

(3) Kaldorie Chess

Pawns – Rogues

Knights – Hunters

Castles – Sentinels (Warriors)

Queen – Tyrande / Queen Azshara

King - Malfurion / Illidan

Bishops – Druid/Priestess

And in my version you have to capture the Queen to win, being the heart of the people and all, but she can still move all over the place like in normal games. If the King is killed any Druid can resurrect him in the place of that piece. Priestess can use a one-time ability to shield those within one square around them and stop them being taken off the board and providing a free move for any piece that is in danger. Hunters get a one-time move that freezes a piece in its spot for a turn. Warriors have a one-time ability that cleaves, taking out one piece and knocking another back to its former spot. Rogues have a one-time ability to move one square behind any piece within two squares of their own.

I need to bust out my board and see if this would actually be a viable way of playing the game, but I can see trying to remember which piece has used it's abilities being a problem so you'd prolly need a piece of paper to keep track.

(1) Bakers's buns. Human way of saying "baby's got back!", a.k.a ghetto booty. Next time you log into a Night Elf toon, look at her butt. It's huge and I mean _huge_.


	39. Of Warriors and Rogues

~* Author's Notes *~

Let me know if you think this is too long and I can cut it in two fairly easily.

Warning: Adult-only and references sprinkled throughout.

~*~ Chapter 38 ~*~

Boobs.

That's what I had called them in my early teen years. Before that _fun bags _and before that_ knockers_, but I was too young to know why they carried so many names. In my latter years they would be _breasts_. Then after joining the Scarlet Campaign they were always _women's breasts_, as off-limits to me as their hearts or minds.

"Cop a feel." The Forsaken Queen offered, disapproving eyes narrowing in a frown. As soon as she saw me the Lady stopped mid-reach to one of her attendants and stared me down. We both stared, I dare say, in surprise.

My own eyes hit the floor. I wouldn't say I was ashamed but damn… did she have to say that like I _should_ be? I was a living man after all; my carnal desires were as in tact as my ability to follow threw.

_Dead boobs_, I tried to tell myself… but all it brought out was my sick humor and I found that I didn't care. I really didn't care. The Inquisitors often said that being undead meant leaving behind your humanity and all sense of morals rights and wrongs. Was finding the Lady before me attractive, though she was in every mortal sense dead, wrong?

My soul is already forfeit. The Light cares about neither what I do nor what I think.

"I can turn around if that would make you more comfortable." There was bitterness in her voice, unhappiness I did not like being the cause of. It shamed me. Even her servants looked away.

_Stop staring at her!_

"No, my Lady," I took one knee in submission, carefully moving the black scythe that was my calling card out of the way, "Your own chambers; I will be the one to turn." And so I did when I rose.

Finding that the Lady bathed at all surprised me. None of the other Forsaken seemed to. I mean, what did they have to fear from disease and rot? I on the other hand… didn't want to find out if I had anything to fear and scrubbed down every time I came back to the city.

I hadn't expected to find her here but there she was, bare down to the waist and fixing the ties of a leather and metal corset. The Lady didn't keep formal quarters – there weren't any to be had in the lower sections of the city – and so just stripped, bathed, dressed and went about her business in a private room adjacent to the Royal Chambers between audiences. It served as bathing room, office and personal storage. But not bed. Servants attended, those not gifted with magic or to graceless to swing an axe in the right direction, and were replacing the worn armor after a bath in the adjoining room.

The bitterness was gone, now a coyness, an almost girlish flirting. "I've nothing to hide." Vanity was something the Lady was well known for and one of the few characteristics that made it unchanged threw her journey from Ranger General to Queen. Men had wanted her before; they still wanted her now.

_And the Lady still lavishes that attention, don't you?_

I hoped my voice did not betray me, "Be that as it may, what right do I have to seek?" _You are my Queen, I would never ask this from you even if you were living._

She resumed her dressing, the feathers of one preened shoulder mount rustling as they were replaced and buckled down. "Why are you here, Nekov?" She dismissed the casual flirting. It was an everyday thing to toy with her males and then changed the subject to spare them embarrassing themselves.

"Only to see the Royal Chamber, my Lady." My own quarters were above ground where the living guests of the city stayed. "This is the only part of your city I have not set foot in yet. It was not my intention to disturb you."

Of the entire filthy, moldy and blight-ridden Undercity, this one room was kept scrubbed and cleaned. No mold, nor grave moss, nor spider's webs in the vaulted stone rafters. The steps up to the dias gleamed smooth as glass, the walls hung with tapestries depicting each Horde nation in turn. The floor coverings were thick carpets woven with scenes of battle. One would literally walk on your enemies as you transverse the room. No doubt all this to make visitors and audiences more comfortable in a place that was otherwise a health hazard for the living.

Her voice was girlish again, the way it is when she was pleased but distracted and speaking to some male whose existence was but to serve her. "Normally when once visits the Royal Chamber they bring a gift."

In the back of my mind I heard a woman's voice with a slight Thelassian accent wondering why her date or brother or working colleague hadn't brought her gifts. There didn't need to be an occasion for gifts, she would tell them as if formal holidays were only holding them back form their true giving potential.

_She likes presents. No, she likes _tribute_. Fitting for a Queen._

I glanced up at the row of heads around the second level of the Chamber: most Human, some Scourge or Forsaken, a Dwarf or two and even a Night Elf, judging by the shape of the jawbones. "Nissa Agamand was incorporeal. I had nothing to bring this time but for some foul smelling ichors." My earlier gifts were lined up at the end: the skulls of the rest of the Agamand family and several Scourge agents I dispatched on my own. She had been delighted with these, even permitting me to place a feathery kiss on the back of one gloved hand as reward.

"The Farthings," she had said to me when I presented Deviln's remains to her, "will be most pleased." Yevett had been, eyes swiftly changing to red as I had presented her the bones. Her brother Coleman had to pull her off me before I was gutted. He wanted the skulls for his mantle but settled for the rest. As I left the Gallows Inn they were line dancing on the bones with half the other patrons, as happy as anyone who's nightmares were finally come to an end.

"I would have your next assignment, my Lady. I grow restless."

This too pleased her, as I knew it would. My eagerness to cut down Scourge and Forsaken traitors alike, even the occasional living being who would interfere with the Apothecary's work, made her smile. I had decided I liked that smile since the first time I saw it in the dungeon.

In the dungeon, after being gifted with a smile – a promise - she had named me, gifted me the armor and weapons of my calling and sent me forth on a temperamental undead steed of my choosing. I had since lost that horse, cut down in battle, but the new one was clad in red and just as eager to buck. Her hooves at least struck more Scourge than me.

"The Scarlets still have my Druid. She is of yet unharmed, though for how long I cannot say. Living, yes, but safe from the Scarlet…? They only need an excuse to turn on her and she will discover their truths first hand."

Armor and clothing back in place I can hear soft scraping noises. It had been a long time since I had heard a woman brushing her hair, or having said hair brushed for her, but it brought back memories. My sister's hair had been as long as the Lady's, though not as fair. Of course, the style and color were different as well.

She fears the Cure may be lost because of my former allies… I had the decency to feel ashamed of my previous associations. If I knew then what I had seen firsthand now, oh but things would be different!

_The Druid_. I shuttered to think of that one, to remember her as I had last seen inside the cave of vines. Amber eyes glowed like nothing mortal; dead gray skin bloomed with color and life; ragged green scars faded away. She had breathed life into me and sucked out the poison; she had fought the Plague for me, trying to draw it out as well. Ultimately she lost, not powerful enough to attempt such an ambitious thing, but in the end I was a living man and none could call me Scourge.

"Does she frighten you?" The Lady was good at reading my thoughts. I suppose centuries of life and unlife made her a gift of insight.

"No, my Lady. Only that … she has claws and canines, even when she is not an animal." Though this didn't adequately explain my feelings there was no better way to put it.

The Lady seemed to consider that, "Claws and teeth and the ability to stop the tainted from turning for good." To me it seemed as if this prospect both contrived and worried the Lady. She stared up at the skulls for a moment. "When I put a Kal'dorie Druid in my mote I had planned for a Forsaken to crawl out. The Tauren were adamant it was not their brand of nature magic that created the trees in Quel'thalas. I wanted someone to question. Whatever the Priest did to her, whatever gift of the Light he loaned her, I would not see it wasted by the Scarlet Campaign!"

_You damned her to death to answer questions about trees? _But I don't suppose the Lady is used to getting simple answers out of members of the Alliance. Especially not their rebellious whelps, the majority of who are so bent on showing loyalty to their elder's causes they don't stop to consider why. Having dealt with that much longer than me I can understand the shortcut that was attempted. If one is Forsaken then whom's cause do you champion?

Oh, the irony…

Maybe her theory was correct: living and yet bearing the Plague of Undead… Now I knew how _she_ had felt in that clearing, standing strait as a bone-thin half-grown elf could, slinging that rotted corpse of a child across a hip and declaring to be none of the things I had know for certain she was. How wrong I had been.

"I know the compound she is held in. If you would permit me to … borrow a few expendable subjects… I would risk a rescue mission." Though why I cannot say. My loyalty to the Lady was thick as cold molasses and as unmoving. In her name the missions I had done had been dangerous for a living man; I had soon learned the value of what she called "arrows in the quiver" and why failing or dying when you still had some left was not acceptable.

A sharp-nailed bare hand came to rest on my shoulder and I turned to look back at her. Hood down for once, the flowing white curls of damp hair clung to her bare neck and trailed downward into off-limit regions. Her pleased expression melted parts of me in uncomfortable ways.

You know that you do that, don't you, my Lady?

The servants bowed and left, taking with them the grooming accessories that kept their Queen looking as much like her High Elf visage as they were able.

"Would you manage with just one to accompany you inside?"

"I… might. The less the better, but the more the better as well." The lines of defense throughout the enclave would be hard to break: spell-mages, archers and warriors stood guard at every opening. "Only cannon fodder, or a distraction that wont die from holy-lit arrows, will get me in and out without very strong magic. The Cathedral keeps a shield of Holy Light around the entire place and no Forsaken or Scourge may pass without the accompaniment of a Commander, Inquisitor or the Archbishop himself."

_I wonder if I can nick a head or two as gifts? The Lady's collection is without an Archbishop._

The white locks shook in disagreement. The Lady left me there and took a seat at the peak of the dias platform. The chair was a throne of Loraederon, brought below for her use from the original throne room far above. One leg flung casually over an arm, gaze tilted up to Traitor's Row once more.

I went to kneel near her, as a man does when before his Queen's throne. The thick leather of my cloak whispered over the floor, clashing roughly with the chink of my mail and plate as I moved.

I dare say I detest this armor. On the fist night I had worn mostly ill-fitting leather and mail. On the second I had rooted out, polished and painted some pieces of plate. The half-healed wounds I bore as a result of my first near-unarmored expedition would never be my mistake again. A Warrior needed his armor.

The Lady eyed me, "You think like a Warrior still. I could hear you coming before you got to the entrance of my chambers; mail and those bits of plate you have are not going to be of much use when storming a Light protected Scarlet stronghold."

_Which is what the fodder is for_, I thought. If she had heard me coming, why seem surprised to see me? Perhaps another was expected, and not so noisily?

"Let me guess: You planned to rush a weak point, spend my men keeping the defenders busy and then sneak threw unnoticed?" I nodded, grimacing at the sound of her exhale. "Then on your way out you will call in reserves, somehow, and they will rush the gates and keep them busy until you and the Druid slip away?"

No matter how stupid the plan sounded it had worked in the past. Granted it had never been used on a Scarlet stronghold, but I didn't really see a difference as far as excitability was concerned. "Some kinks in to work out, but the gist of it, my Lady."

The red eyes slid close with the headshake, then open again. My heart sank a little to know that the plan did not meet my Lady's expectations or approval. "You will take one," she instructed, "he will show you how to get in and out."

At my quizzical look the Lady elaborated, "I will not waste fighters rushing this compound. Many have done it in the past, including Arthas himself with a far larger army that I, and each were repelled. You will take one," a long pale finger stroked the air, sharp purple-stained nail visible above the quick, "and you will do as he says. Stealth is what is needed here, not brash Warrior actions."

I wanted to argue that when Arthas had slammed his army into the compound it had been the Light that repelled him, the Plague inside him unable to withstand the power of all the Scarlet Priests and Paladins that sent their judgments power at him all at once. He had been repelled, taking his army with him in defeat. That had been his last assault anywhere in Lordaeron before he left his ruined kingdom for good.

The unease of my words could not be helped, "A Rogue? You propose that me and one Rogue will manage to slip into this compound and out with your Druid?"

"Something like that, yes." Her head tilt and small smile were almost endearing. It certainly made me want to agree with her.

You seem to like to test me, my Lady.

"If you want rid of me just say it and I will turn myself over to the survivors of the Monastery and they will serve me up to the Light." My shoulders tensed with thoughts of the Monastery and the atrocities that had been committed there. The walls painted in blood, the gory decorations in the rafters, the posing of the bodies…

Her small chuckle caught me off guard, as did her hand coming to rest on top of my head. "If I wanted rid of you then I would do it myself. You have been surprisingly faithful and eager to please, short as your time in my service has been. I value these qualities." The hand left my head but the sensations it spread threw my chest did not go with it.

One of her hands beckoned to the shadows near the door and a figure in black and black and black stepped forward. An elf, I noted, though I could not see his eyes threw the mesh of the mask. "This will be the one who makes sure you succeed. Wont you?"

The man dropped to one knee, much as I had, but one hand stayed on the knee. Submission but not domination: he belonged to another. "As you say, your Majesty."

The Banshee Queen sat up strait in her throne and looked the man over, armored ankles locking together in a decidedly feminine way. "He'll need training. And different armor and perhaps a new weapon."

The blazing red eyes snapped around to me when I hissed sharply. My scythe. _She wants me to give up my scythe_… I could not imagine myself without the weapon that had been a much a part of me as my own two arms. Everything I had done for the Lady before me had been wrought at the end of that slick black blade. Leave it behind? I could not imagine.

Cut off my manly bits but leave me my weapon! "If you please, my Lady, I would rather keep it."

"And so it begins." The elfin man signed as if speaking of a spoiled child's demands. I had not noticed before but his accent was strictly Human, not even the slightest dialect of any of the elfin races. I had heard them all in my years but this was just strange.

"Now, now, be nice to my man. Nekov has done wonderful things for me with that blade. I would not ask him to give it up lightly."

The slow turn of the elf's head to look at me in slight surprise made me straiten up slightly. _Yes, _that_ Nekov, you little runt. _I'd wager _his_ name was not worth the Lady's breath to speak it_. _I knew I looked smug when he caught my eye – as best I could look at his at least – and I gave him my best _what-now?_ grin.

In retrospect my arrogance was probably a mistake. Hindsight is 20/20 they say. But when the Lady plays men they dance for her, even if we weren't aware at the time.

The man scoffed, laughed at me even. "He is no Rogue, your Majesty. He is a Warrior in mismatched armor and wielding a common painted farm tool. I would be better off alone."

I bristled at this, hearing every sneer and every insult left unsead, "I could show you what farm tools can make of a man, elf." I had taken down Scourge four or five times his size, wielding dark necromantic magic or flurries of blades and weapons. My own had blocked theirs and in the end all heads came off with just slash and a tug. They were all the same, living or dead, once their heads came off.

I could see the eyes roll even threw the mesh covering them, "A Rogue they will hear coming from a mile off and with a two handed weapon… This is going to be fun!" 

The Lady said nothing, just rested her chin on the back of one lovely hand and watched the men-folk strut.

I stood, angry. "If I must work with you then I will but don't think being a sneaky thief makes you better than me." I rose and went to stand over him. He was of a Human height but every ounce of him muscled like an elf in skin hugging, whisper-soft faded black leather. He smelled of freshly washed sheets and moonshine.

Quicker than I could react he had my scythe in his hands, testing the weight. I lunged to recapture it with a cry of "Unhand-" but before the words were out it went flying off to the side, spinning in a graceful ark and flung with the ease of practice.

My chain mail head cover was the next to be snatched off. I spun around from retrieving my weapon to retake my head cover, but he was behind me again in the flash of eyes and my plate leg plates were unbuckled and falling to the floor with a clatter.

How do you move so fast? What magic is that?

I was divested of my armguards next, thick padded leather sheaths bearing the bite marks of half a dozen undead enemies. I had covered them in mail when the bites left bruises even threw the leather. Curses followed the laughing Rogue as he danced tight circles around me removing my armor one piece at a time. When I would get my hands on him he would hit me, a quick shot to a nerve or a crippling blow to paralyze my muscles and numb the flesh.

I was stripped down to my leather pants by the time he was done. "Now," he said, fingers moving over the buckle at my belt and making my face redden, "lets see about slipping you into something more… comfortable. And quieter." Still unable to move I chanced a look at the Lady…

_You made us fight on purpose, didn't you, my Lady? Just to make us cluck for your amusement._

… her eyes were bright with a red heat I had never seen before. "I should have warned you," she purred, "He's quit adept at removing men's clothing and … holding them still."


	40. Never Simple

~*~ Chapter 39~*~

Things were never as simple as they first seemed. Relieved at narrowly avoiding being tortured by a bunch of Scarlet crazies, Kayas had almost given into the idea of joining the Campaign. After all, they fought things that destroyed life and so did she. They wanted to restore the land to health and beauty again; so did she. They wanted to be rid of the Forsaken and the Plague. So did she.

It had been a week minus one day since Kayas first arrived at the Scarlet Enclave. At first the people had been hostile and distrustful, but gradually their hostility gave way to curiosity and then an uneasy friendship. By the night of the sixth day however, it gave way to zealotry.

She was back in the Field of Agony, refusing to move closer to a table with the remains of a woman on it that a few days before had been alive and healthy. The marks on her legs where a plague-tainted hand had touched her Light-infused flesh still showed clearly.

Over head the arcane shield kept out the slashing rains of the storm which had been blowing inland for days. Normally a shade of deep purple the shield had been lightened to near invisibility, giving the effect of the rain bouncing off thin air and sliding downward and a steep angle.

"No." She answered the Commander once again. Serz Huzad and Mr. Meows were not present today. No doubt they had been quarantined in another area, locked away and unable to come to the Druid's aid. That the large cat had not been with her when first she was brought to the field had made her uneasy. Then she became fearful.

"She's freshly dead," The Commander explained, "It wont be hard to raise her. You did it before."

"I cant save her. She's dead, and besides there's no Plague in her to…" Though her voice trailed off the glimmer in the Commander's eye showed he understood the problem.

_I should have held my tongue. What a blabbermouth!_

The next table she was brought to had a similar story. The man on it was desperately fighting for life, infected with the Plague and not wanting to turn for good once he slipped threw the mortal veil.

"This is not the answer." She informed the Commander. He would hear none of it however.

He had come to her quarters in the tower that afternoon and informed her that the experiments she was doing were taking too long and that the higher-ups wanted faster progress. Though he was informed that was because she only had herself to experiment on he insisted he wanted a progress report by that night or he would take it upon himself to speed things up.

The little Druid had an idea of what that meant. He wanted her to raise dead people as living and infected to help them fight the Scourge. They would give her plenty to experiment on, he reasoned, and should help progress things along nicely. That they would be as sentient as she and as vulnerable to the Dark Lady as she gave him no pause to consider; they had all been traitors in the mind of the Scarlet Campaign and would at least be useful in death. The higher-ups wanted results and by the Light they would have them!

_You're all crazy. _She knew this, Salira had said as much, but now she realized the true extent of just how much mental and emotional damage there was. _Damaged_... that was a good word for the people of the Scarlet Campaign.

Kayas was horrified. Her expression set something off in the Scarlet Commander because he hit her again, telling her to get to work before she found herself on one of the slabs. They had plenty of people who would take up her work if she refused, he said. It would take them but a day or two to travel via Mage portals to the enclave.

That they would never be able to do her work was the first though that swept threw her mind. Following that came the realization that they intended to experiment on her themselves, to use her as a lab rat.

"You promised me sanctuary," she pleaded, "and now you threaten to kill me? Do you honestly believe I can help you under these conditions?"

"You'll be helpful. One way or another you will serve the Light and the Scarlet cause in ridding the Scourge from Lordaeron." He pointed a thick finger at her face, "Best figure out on which side of that slab you want to be when the sun rises. I'll be back by then for one set of results or another."

Gathering her courage she reached for the dying man; he squirmed in his bonds but was as unable to move from her as he was from his inquisitor.

"Go away." She commanded the Scarlet man. "Leave me to work in peace."

"I'll not be leaving you alone. Salira will be here. You can deal with having an audience."

I would see the forests of Ashenvale once more. Someday I will go home. For now, all I have to do is survive. Survive. Survive.

Secondly she was greatful that Salira had kept her act up so well the Commander though she downright hated her ward and would look for any opportunity to turn on her.

Heavy footfalls spoke of his leaving the two of them there. Though it was fully dark now the entire Field was lit from the inside of the arcane shield. It reflected from a single Light source and created a mirror effect, lighting up every corner as if it were full daylight.

I can't see the moon. Will She be made at me for what I am about to do? Will she forgive the promise I am about to break? Does She hate me for what I did to that man back at Queen's Rout? Which is what the Scarlets had taken to calling the place where the Banshee Queen had fled and left her at their mercy.

The inquisitors had left, taking their victims and their waiting lines with them. Even the cages over by the reanimator had been cleared out. The little Druid knew this was a special honor they undertook on her behalf; clearing out those who could give them information on the Dark Lady and her ilk so that a Druid who could raise the infected back up as living could work in please.

Peace being a relative term, of course. There were others they didn't take: the infected go to stay behind.

Hands on the dying man's chest she willed her powers to come, the powers of the fields and forests and cool springs and stirring airs and all living creatures that walked the land of flew on currents. _Be still, _she willed. _Be calm and know peace. Do not be anxious or fearful. Rest and I will fight this battle for you._

Large brown eyes, round with fear and wet with exertion, stared at her blankly and inside his mind he wondered if he really was feeling different. Calmer. Relaxed. Resting… He collapsed on the table, eyes sliding shut, mouth hanging open, and breath deepening in moments.

Kayas smiled despite herself. Healing was not her gift and yet she was able to call the calming energies needed for healing as if they only needed an excuse to do work. Behind her Salira moved closer.

"Is he dead?"

The smile vanished from the Kaldorei's face. "No."

One swift movement of both her hands and the Warrior's two-handed mace came free from its attachment on her hip. The Druid brought it down on the man's head with a sickening crack. Blood dribbled out from under the mace, flowing down the tale and pooling by the shoulders, trickling threw the cracks in the wood and painting the grass a sickening shade of glowing red.

"Now he's dead."

The Warrior didn't move, frozen mid-reach for her mace. The blood made her stomach churn and the Druid could feel it. Salira didn't like the sight of blood, or the smell, the cloying, overpowering _ripe_ smell of it.

"You – you _killed_ him!"

Expressionless Kayas pulled the hammer away and wiped it in the grass before handing it back. "Is that what you will tell the Commander when he asks what happened?"

Stunned, the woman looked as if she would bolt and do just that. Never had she expected to see a Druid, not this one especially, take a life with such ease! Inside her mind she was reevaluating the girl who stood before her and all others like her.

The Druid's unnerving eyes stared at her, willing her to follow along. "I am Kaldorei; we are the best fighters this world has ever seen. Not even our Priesthood is spared the rites that teach how and when to take a life."

"I… I suppose I could tell him the man turned and… tried to escape?"

The Druid smiled, pleased that she caught on without being told outright what the plan was. She didn't realize how wicked the smile look, how edged with dark deeds every line of her face was. Around them the storm roared.

The pair made their way around the field doing the same for each of them. They begged for life or begged for death or begged to be allowed to write a letter home. Most of all they begged to be burned to ash that they not rise again and hurt anyone should the killing blow fail to do it's work.

Salira didn't have the stomach to bring her weapon down on the living and so the Druid was made to do each of them in turn. In the end the hammer was bloody on both sides, bits of brain and bone stuck into the wood, the blood splatter patterned the red and white tabards both wore.

"I didn't sign up for this," The Scarlet woman had moaned when Kayas tried to make her take the hammer back. The Druid took both her hands and wrapped them around the handle and held them, never breaking eye contact until the Warrior dropped her gaze and held the weapon on her own.

"He'll wonder why only I have blood on my hands."

In the end the Druid splashed guard down, careful not to get it anywhere near her face. When Salira looked sufficiently marked they had turned to look out over the bloody field. Thirteen corpses had been created that night, the pair moving quickly from one to the other lest the Commander return suddenly and stop them.

"We'll need to sing them to the ground." The Druid whispered, feeling the weight of the deeds upon her with the ebb of adrenaline.

The Scarlet woman looked at her much the way a foot soldier looks at their General when being told to burn a village to hide proof of killing the wrong people. "What?"

"Do you know any hymns? I can't sing and work the energies at the same time. They aren't of my people, but I would give them rest."

Salira shook her head, mace still dripping bits of ooze from their last kill, "They need to be burned. I don't know what this ground singing of yours is, some Night Elf tradition I'm sure, but it wont do here. Burn them each and every one. Else they will rise again if the Banshee Queen ever comes here with her Necromancers. Or if Arthas ever returns. Even the mindless can serve if their bones were tainted before they died."

The prospect of such a thing happening, of her mercy killing being undone so easily, had the Druid worried. That must be how the rotting zombies that peppered all of Tirisfal came to be. No brain to process rational thoughts, even an undead brain, and so were driven by the Plague alone to do evil.

There were shouts from outside the arcane field. Salira, Warrior trained and true, snapped to attention. Blood and gore forgotten her mace was at the ready, stance shifting to a fighting balance and stepped between her charge and the shouting. "Stay here," she ordered, "if I'm not back in five minutes you get back to the tower and lock yourself in." Not waiting for affirmation the red-clad woman charged into the rain and darkness.

Looking at the bodies around her the Druid felt a tugging sensation. There was no fire inside the arcane shield and too much of a rain shower outside to make starting a funeral pyre possible. "Why do I not think ahead in times like this?" she asked herself.

There was a way to burn the bodies. One way she promised someone a long time ago she would never…

~*~ Scarlet Enclave, Main Gait ~*~

Threw the rain it was difficult to see the small figure far below on the ground. Here on top of the wall surrounding the Scarlet enclave you could see clear over the trees. This was helped by the hill the compound was situation on, but the high of the walls was no less impressive.

"What do you want, you filthy Scourged witch?" The Commander bellowed to be heard threw the downpour and distant claps of thunder. Archers to the left and right were standing at the ready, soaked threw to the bone, Light-infused arrows notched and drawn. Behind them Priests infused more arrows and lined them up within reach of their assigned archer.

Below them the Banshee Queen made a show of counting archers and Mages, Priests and Warriors to mark tallies in the air. "Why, I'm taking an inventory your defenses, of course!" The sheets of rain beat down on her tall form relentlessly, causing feathers and cloak to hang limp and heavy from their anchors.

Whatever insanity had gotten into the undead woman was to the Commander's advantage as far as the Scarlets were concerned. "And why would you be doing that?"

"I'm gong to attack you, infect you, kill you and then raise you up to serve me in undeath. Lovely night to join the Forsaken, don't you think?"

"Not funny, Scourge! Arthas himself had thrown his abominations against these walls and not broken threw, so strong with the presences of the Light that shielded this stronghold!"

"Arthas never threw _himself_ against your defenses, or that story would have ended very, very differently. Trust me on that." Red eyes studied them from under the drooping hood, the only part of her entire being not soaked threw.

"Archers!" One red armored arm went up for the signal, " Fire!"

And so it began.

~ End Note ~

Writing Sylvanas is not easy. Someone so driven by grief fueling rage is far too deep and dark for me to want to explore too much in a setting that I didn't originally create. She's just one of those characters that gets a hook into you and –like the Plague- wants to draw you over into a darker embrace.


	41. Friendly Fire

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

I've left out mentioning friends, family or previous events in the life of the main character on purpose. This is because there are side stories in the works and I did not want to keep referencing the same events over and over from different PoVs. The side stories are being written separately because I don't know how to add them directly to this one without spreading the story too thin by having too many character PoVs.

~*~ Chapter 40 ~*~

Kayas was moving across the compound. Her bare feet carried her threw muddy lanes and gatehouses, threw each walled off section as silently as a cat threw puddles of water. Guards and residents of the area paid her little attention, thinking she was just as much a Scarlet as they were. Behind her a fire roared with life, consuming the bodies of the freshly dead and infected Humans in the Field of Agony.

A shadow to her right moved but she kept going. By the time she reached the living section of the compound the rain washed the blood from her tabard and leggings. A familiar feeling began to bubble up, one the Druid though recognizable and yet subtly different from the truly familiar. Under the archways that lead to the living quarters of the civilian residents the long figure paused to consider. It was a similar feeling to when she had been followed by the elf that bore the Priest and Warlocks blessed-cursed seed. This was…

A shadow lunged forward, wrapped a thickly muscled arm around her waste and a gloved hand going over her mouth. "Shhhh!" The man held her firmly, moved her into the shadows. "Stop fighting me, I'm here to rescue you!" Teeth found a finger but he only ground his own teeth and refused to release the squirming girl.

Eyes wide she recognized the feeling… her own nature magic. He was infused with it after being healed at Queen's Rout. Fear burst threw a normally brave mind. What did he plan to do as revenge? This sickening worry increased with a fresh view of the smoke rising up threw the night sky. It was as if the rain-pelting shield didn't exist at all.

"Calm down, I promise I'm not going to hurt you. The Lady sent me. She sent me to get you out of here!' His voice suggested this was a wonderful idea and she would be oh-so-happy to hear it.

_The Commander may be crazy and scared of the Scourge, but he's doesn't frighten me more than _she_ does._

She bit his hand harder, earning a wince and the withdrawal of the offending appendage. "I quit like it here; I think I'll be staying." Shifting into her bear form she spun and made a bite for his softer bits. Booted feet jumped back in surprised, leaving small dimples in the muddy ground. At least over there his manly bits would be safely out of mauling range, and the would-be savior got to see him for the first time since the clearing.

Black, as all of the stalking-in-the-night variety tended to wear, fitted snuggly from crown to softly booted toe and dripping wet in the rain. Over it all the purple and black tabard of the Undercity clearly marked his new allegiance. The scythe was the only unexpected edition. A black painted farm tool bearing the signs of rough use and lackluster care replaced the normal stabby tools most of the shadow men preferred.

The man stood gaping at her the same way she stood gaping at him.

"Gone native I see." The words were spat even as she had shifted back to standing. "She's evil; she's going to kill everyone and fatten her army up and then march them off to Northrend-"

The hole in the mask covering his head and neck allowed only the narrowing eyes to be seen, "You handed me to her on a silver platter; what else was I to do?" he hissed, "Fight her? How well did that work out for you?" He spat on the ground in disgust. "Besides, you joining the Scarlet is the same as me joining the Forsaken." The resentment and anger welling out of him struck her like a stick to the head. Right about now she was thankful she had not taken up the mantle of a priestess else her skin would be much thinner.

Ire made the Druid grind her teeth to stop from lashing out in her own defense. His Commander was to blame, not she. "At least they don't beat me." Not today at least. "That is more than I can say for your _Lady_." She turned to continue on her way but a rough hand grabbed her arm.

"Look, I know you don't like her but she's… she's all we have between us and _him_. I know this much for certain: it's her or him so make your choice." Weeks in the Plaguelands and everyone knew who _he_ was, elaboration unnecessary.

Looking up at the taller Human in the cold rain made her blink. "We're just pawns to her. Easily acquired and easily replaced. Let her…" … replace me. But with whom? Who would be sacrificed so that the Dark Lady would finally have a Druid to work on her cure? Come the next setbacks in healing Quel'thalas of the Scourge and getting her revenge on Arthas who would take the Plague in her place? No doubt the Tauren would have something to say if one of theirs rose as undead… so it would be another Kaldorei.

The grip on her arm tugged, "We don't have much time. She's keeping them distracted by the Main Gate and the rain will cover our escape out the East Gate. Serz Huzad will be slipping out the West Gate-"

"How-?"

"He's got friends in high places, lets just say. Really, really high places." His voice was dry and almost sarcastic and just a bit jealous. "Besides, the other Warlock is just about ready to burn down Brill and everyone in it if the Priest doesn't get his … Druid… back soon."

Kayas glared, aware the word _pet_ nearly slipped from between those traitor lips. Snatching her arm back she took a deep breath to think. Before it was let out they were moving quickly toward the East Gate.

~* The Practice Field *~

Serz Huzad

Serz Huzad sat in the little box to avoid as much rain as possible. The little red cushion was soaked threw however and ruined by the muck. This structure could not be called a shed anymore, seeing how the door was missing and there were holes rotted in every conceivable spot. Swaying in the wind was one thing but the old shed seemed to be melting in the downpour as well.

_Even with the hole in the roof and the missing windows, it certainly has its small charms. _Said charms were Warlock talismans hanging above the inside of the door and sigils scratched into the wood. The Scarlet would burn the shack as soon as they saw them but he planned to be long gone by then.

Quick eyes watched the Rogue enter the yard and take a good ten minutes reaching the shanty, weaving around all the other undead tethered in place. It occurred to him the elf must have though he was being stealthy. Perhaps to someone else he may have been but it's very hard to hide that particular scent of clean sheets from a Forsaken man with a very good nose and a familiarity with the finer things.

When the elf finally got to him Serz was to his feet and ready to go. The Warlock had been sure the Dark Lady would send for him soon; she had a habit of coming and going with the rainstorms. "You would be-"

"Your escort, m'lord." The mesh over the eyes prevented seeing even a small flash of skin; even his ears were pinned down tight under the skullcap covering his hair. The Common was pure and rich with no hint of any dialect of Thelassian.

Serz smiled, "Theron's man?"

"Yes, m'lord."

The Warlock looked out over the yard and the undead, "They wont bother me, but you best stealth your way back to the gate."

As he left the shack, unliving eyes saw a disturbing amount of light coming from the Field of Agony. The glow looked like a dome of fire spread across the entire area, but allowing smoke to escape. Eyes a little wide the Warlock though perhaps Corrosa had broken the High Priest's control and made it here after all, but the lack of green indicating fel-flame spoke of some other origin. Whatever it was the magical nature of the blaze was without question.

Perhaps it was the Dark Lady's distraction? Perhaps it was the Scarlet's way of getting rid of the evidence? The Warlock shook his head and signed as much as he was able without working lungs and shuffled forward. He hated mud and usually hated rain. After spending days in a robe soaked threw with the blood of the slain however, he would take any method of washing Whoever Is Listening provided.

Over by the gate they had to stop and allow a group of Mages to rush by on their way to put out the blaze. Apparently it was growing and would soon reach the limits of the shield. If the shield popped under the pressure the fire would spread to the Living Quarters. So the gossip said...

It had been a long time since a certain Warlock, once a Human survivor of the horrors that overtook Darrowshire, had skulked threw the shadows but the memory of how – bone memories as his long-gone wife had once called them – came back as quickly as an imp who strayed too far from the one who would feed it souls to live. He bent low burned the bottom foot or so of robe with conjured fel-flame. Satisfied he wouldn't be tripping over the ragged leangths of fabric he stayed low and crept along after the rogue, scooting threw the mud on half skeletal bare feet.

The Scarlet had divested him of his fine cloth boots soon after his capture, much to his chagrin. Nothing useful went to waste in a place like this; even the clothing of the undead they slew was recycled if possible. The utility belt had been left in place, well enchanted to appear like a ragged piece of decomposing cloth. Unbeknownst to them it held a variety of reagent for his spells.

Once it looked as if they would have been caught but for the rogue sapping the guard. It was a neat trick to knock the man behind one ear and cause him to sway in a stupor for several seconds while they hurried away. Serz hoped the damage wasn't permanent but as he looked back the guard was just standing there as if it was where he had been rushing to the entire time and now had nowhere else to be.

"Neat trick," he whispered to the Rogue, "no shadow magic like they use in Silvermoon."

The man's back tensed, just a little affronted, "I have my own magic."

"Who taught you?"

"Who taught _you_?" There was anger in his voice and hurt, which he tried to disguise with little success. "Keep moving."

"I did not mean to offend you." Subtlety was not a spell-flingers art but who had taught Serz was as much the Warlocks secret as other classified names he held close. "I was only curious. My apologies."

"Given." And that was the end of discussions.

They were in the Animal Yard now, where the sheep, pigs and cows were kept. Sneaking threw animals who were lethargic with safety was rather easy. From the time they were born to the time they were slaughtered they never had a predator in the world and so were not accustomed to keeping ears and nose open, especially not in blasting rains. The pair came upon another gate and had to wait to pass threw it. They would be outside after the next gate.

Behind them the arcane shield broke and an angry blaze shot out into the night lighting up the entire Scarlet fortress. Inside the flames faces appeared, thirteen in total, screaming angry men and women reaching out to the living Mages who fought them and seeking revenge.

~* Main Gate *~

~ Salira ~

Salira Porter had identified the source of the disturbance not long after leaving the Druid in the Field of Agony. On the way back however, she had been drafted into fighting. Given a bow and an apprentice Priest she had been made to sit on the wall and fire enchanted arrows at the Dark Lady.

"I'm a Warrior!" she had protested when the slim longbow was thrust into her hands, along with a quiver of red arrows, "I can barely aim this thing, let along hit something with it!"

They would hear none of it and hauled her to the top of the wall. The wooden scaffolding crisscrossing the inside of the wall was slippery but the rouge stone at the top was not, despite the thundering torrents of water. The storm was getting worse.

The first arrow was notched with closed eyes, not really aiming. It went wide and stuck in a tree, Light winking out as the energy was recalled for the next arrow. Below them the Dark Lady darted around laughing and almost twirling threw the rain of bright arrows. The Light of so many archers firing at one target fairly lit up the night and turned the wind-swept rain into sheets of gold.

More archers joined the rows on the wall, even more Warriors and some civilians roused by commotion and offering to help. After a time the Dark Lady couldn't blink away from them all and even her inhuman ability to dodge showed it's limits when one arrow finally found it's mark, lodging itself in her wide hip and pinning the soaked cloak into place.

The Dark Lady stopped. Everyone stopped. For a split second they all stared at the arrow as if it were impossible. Her head snapped up, teeth chewing her lower lip in an uncharacteristic fashion as seething eyes scanned the rows of archers looking for a triumphant smile. They aimed and fired in that second but a dark pulsing shield shot up around the undead Queen, protecting her from everything that touched it.

"Which one was it?" she inquired over the din of the storm, voice barely audible, "Which one of you fired it? I would reward you myself!"

No one claimed it, though they each looked around to see who was smug or scared the most. No doubt there would be a full tankard waiting for them at the tavern whenever this was over and possibly a promotion. They didn't notice that the angry Scourged woman below them wasn't dodging arrows anymore: her own bow was notched, aimed, fired. The motion was quick, a single black bolt shot upward alone to meet dozens of bright Lights raining down.

"_Bash'a no falor talah!"_ The enraged Queen screamed into the night, sending her own black magic to challenge the Scarlet Light.

When the first man fell Salira volunteered to take him to the infirmary. By the time they made it to a bed the shield containing the fire burst, sending waves of crashing heat over half the enclave and enough light to be seen all the way to the Undercity. The winds carried the smoke and the worst of it towards the Living Quarters, the section of the compound where the majority of the civilians resided.

Mages fighting the fire seemed to be caught by the very thing they strove to subdue and in seconds were screaming as they rolled in raging flames. It seemed as if the flames had faces and the faces had teeth and the teeth could bite. The blood jetting out of the wounds boiled before it hit the ground.

If seasoned spell fighters couldn't escape the flames… there was no way the Druid could have.


	42. The Scourge

~* Author's Notes *~

Sorry I stopped posting for several weeks. I finally made it to the big 'escape' scene and it had run threw my mind so many times I got burn out and couldn't make myself finish it. I don't know if I'm just going to post a few more chapters and take another break or if I'm picking the story back up. We'll see

~*~ Chapter 41 ~*~

~* West Gate *~

Serz Huzad

Serz barely made it past the guards. Only because the rogue quickly blinded one and sapped another did the Warlock slip past. The gate, which normally took five strong people to open, was barred and locked fast. The thick metal of the monsterous gate, and the wholes just small enough to prevent all but a child slipping threw, mocked them as it blocked their way to freedom. At least the rain prevented them seeing beyond the gate, lest the vision tease them even more.

Serz had raised an eyebrow when the elf put hands on the turn and make to work the gate open.

"Little help?" the lithe man asked.

The undead man cleared his throat, "I, um…do not think just the two of us can get it."

The rogues voice was the driest thing for miles around, "Try."

"If optimism gave you wings we'd fly over that wall." But the Warlock joined him at the turn, getting his place and his bony footing. The toes on both his feet had long rotted away, but the first joint of bone had been wilted into passable claws. They dug into the ground and held where other feet might slide.

"I'm still alive." With a groan the Rogue pushed, only a half-second before Serz.

The Warlock didn't make any noise as he leaned into the turn, just the sound of fabric moving over rain-wrinkled skin. To his shock the Rogue's body strained at pushing the lever and it groaned slowly. Invigorated by the sound they pushed harder, it groaned more and the gate inched up as the chain was wound.

A few seconds latter and the Rogue reached down to slam home the bolt that would prevent the chain unwinding once the lever was released. He panted with the exertion and leaned on the handles of the turn, trembling with fatigue. Approaching footfall caught both their attention; there would be no time to rest.

"That was impressive." Serz admired, "Where did you learn that?" He looped an arm around the rogue and hoisted the light man to his feet. The other's body was fiery hot from the strain and breaking out in a fine sheet of sweat. His leathers would need to be washed when this was all over. The rain would refresh him no doubt but he was going to wake up tomorrow aching from head to toe.

"Construction work."

"Being a sneaky-sneaky isn't your first job?" They headed out the back door of the gatehouse and towards the gate. The Warlock made some quick hand gestures and spoke some garbled demonic. Quick magic of something that often took hours or days to perform, such a setting up the demonic circle that formed quickly on the ground behind them, was usually locked in an object of power.

"I wish." Glancing back the Rogue added, "Your not a Warlock."

"That isn't true. I have demons and everything." Smile.

"Misdirection." The elven man pointed towards the gate room and the sound of crashing indicating the door was about to break lose. He dismissed the Warlocks claims, not being one for pointless arguments.

The Warlock smiled. Inside the gate house there came a roar of anger as if the bowls of hell were opened and a minion of the Old Gods had stepped threw. There came loud bangs and crashing, the sound of screaming men. The Rogues snapped around to look at the Warlock.

"My voidwalker," the half-grinning man explained," He's rather… upset… after his long stay in the Nether."

"What did he do?"

The Warlock frowned, "Broke my finest china. Just smashed it all to pieces." At the look he knew the Rogue was giving him threw the mesh of his mask the undead man added, "It's a discontinued pattern! I'll never find replacements."

"You poor thing."

The Warlock huffed, waved his hand in the air to indicate the importance, drops of water flying in every direction, "Pre-Sundering Quel'dorie china. The blue phoenix was limited edition before; it's unheard of now!"

Curiosity overcame the elf, "Scavenged?" There were scarcely any blue, white and gold Quel'dorie artifacts left in the world. The remainder of the High Elves took what they could when they fled Quel'thalas and destroyed the rest. Anything they missed that was worth having had been almost warred over by survivors of the holocaust. How a Forsaken came by an intact set of Alliance blue High Elf anything was a puzzle worth pursuing, even in their current conditions.

The Warlock was quiet for a moment, "It was a gift. Before I died."

The Rogue nodded, the end of that conversation. It was understood that you didn't ask a Forsaken about their pre-dead existence. Kind of like how you don't ask an elven Rogue how he came to have an entirely Human accent without a trace of Thelassian.

The man in question was dropped to the ground by the gate and rolled threw the small opening. Serz Huzad followed, having one of his half-skeletal arms grabbed and being drug threw on his stomach. They were both a muddy mess, but when the gate snapped close seconds latter neither cared.

Both looked up from wiping the worst of the mud clots off to find themselves face to face with a Scourge General and his army. All involved were surprised to see the other there. This was quite an unexpected thing…

"Don't mind us, gentlemen. Just passing threw." The Warlock said with a deep bow and a step to go around.

The Scourge attacked.

~ East Gate ~

Kayas

Kayas' escort stopped abruptly, stealthed as a cat. It was obvious the man was on edge, but she got the feeling he had only recently had an introduction to the art of moving silently. Whenever he heard something he would jerk to a halt, the first instinct was to make sure he had not made the noise himself.

_If I were bigger I would carry you so we could get out of here faster._ It was a long-standing tradition that larger Druids could and would carry their allies into battle, but Kayas had the feeling she was never going to be that big. The Priest kept calling her a kitten, a term she was coming to hate for its half-truth.

At least it was warmer now. The heat radiating out of the Field of Agony, the magical fire spreading towards the Living Quarters, combated sharply with the chill of the thunderstorm. If there was a tomorrow, Kayas knew, everyone was going to be deathly sick all this. The Banshee Queen was going to have her pick of new bodies.

The fire frightened her, making her creep faster along the ground and past the still man. He whispered after her, trying slow the progress but she blatantly ignored him and kept going. She did not like raging fire; few Kel'dorie did. Fire was hatred and fire was love and fire was death and fire was life. Fire consumed trees and did not care which enemy wielded it against the beloved forests of Kalimdor. Trees the elves would not give up willingly were burnt to the ground if the Orcs got their flaming catapults close enough.

The former Scarlet Warrior was forced to follow lest he lose her paw prints in the downpour. The rain and thunder was thick and loud enough to block out both sight and sound within a few yards. The screaming of the citizens of the compound could be heard from all sides. Mages headed to put out the blaze; Warriors in formation running to the front gate; reserve soldiers being woken to help strengthen defenses on all gates; Priests taking up their posts to work their magic on the Light-made barricade over the compound.

No one noticed the man in the purple and blue tabard or the feline prints left behind in the mud. The Druid had not learned how to disguise her footprints yet. At least the Dark Lady had been wrong about her blighting the ground she walked on. No plants sprung up in her wake, but she suspected that was because here the ground was not looking for an excuse to grow.

The commotion allowed them to slip threw the armory yard at the heart of the compound and threw the farmed fields that took up almost a third of the entire area. The okra was prickly as they jogged threw but the barbs only found leather and guard hairs to cling to and were as quickly falling to the ground with a shake or a gloved hand to wipe them away.

The West Gate loomed before them but soon they discovered over a dozen Warriors and archers lined up in front of it. A mage-priest behind them was arguing with the little girl Kayas had seen in the practice field that day. The little girl was arguing loudly and much as the Druid wanted to hear what she was saying the cracks of thunder were louder.

Finally the mage-priest decided to humor the child and off they went together, headed to the Practice Field. Someone looked to argue with her but the older woman just shook her head and mouthed something akin to "I'll be right back".

"Do you fly?" The leather-clad man inquired of the Druid. Though he was unable to see her in the downpour with her stealth held in place, he was still able to follow her paw prints in the mud.

Unstealthing she shook her head no.

"I though Druids could fly?"

She stared, willing him to not be so dense. It seemed to have worked when he shook his head, as if shaking away some idea that refused to leave. Droplets of water flew in every direction. "Ok, that's going to be a problem. I hadn't anticipated this gate being guarded so heavily."

Shifting into her upright form she hissed at him, "And just what did you anticipate? Them throwing it open and allowing us to walk out? You maybe, but me…?" Her head shook in denial. They would never let her go willingly, not as long as they though she could help them fight the Plague or the Forsaken or the Scourge or Arthas or any other Human problem the denizens of Lordaeron felt like thrusting into the lap of a single Kaldorei girl from Auberdine.

He knelt in the shadows and though for a moment, eyeing the guards and holding his weapon with both hands. "We need to get them away from the gate."

"Why are they even here?"

He was incredulous, "How would I know? I'm not exactly in the loop anymore, remember?"

Kneeling side by side it was easy to glare at each other in the few inches of space between them. Then they turned back to the gate, bigger problems at hand. "A distraction?" The Druid finally offered.

The Rogue want-to-be pointed to the billowing flames leaping into the sky, lighting up a good two-thirds of the enclave, "If that's not going to make them move, nothing will."

Just a moment latter the Mage-Priest arrived, running and out of breath, "He's gone! The Warlock is gone! Mariah went to give him a blanket but he's gone!" Somewhere along the way she had lost both shoes in the mud and the hem of her robes was soaked up to the knee despite the long cloak she wore. It seemed she was only gone a few moments but the Practice Field was quite a ways away.

Several of the Scarlets in the formation cursed. Kayas went stiff as a board when one asked, "And the Druid? Where is she? Where is that jungle cat, whatsitsname, Mowser? Where is _Salira_?" The list of names came as each was though with barely a pause between them.

They all turned to look at the magic wrought fire leaking black swells of smoke over the Living Quarters. They knew the Commander had taken her there to work on another experiment just moments before all this happened. "Light be damned," one of the men swore and was just as quickly slapped into silence for his blasphemous statement.

Beside the man hiding in the shadows the Druid blanched, wide eyed. Her companion turned to look at her in disbelief. "You did that?" he hissed dropping his head slightly to try to see her face.

She dropped into her feline form so as not to answer and wouldn't look at him.

_If Elune forgave one broken promise She can forgive another. Oh Mother Moon…_

Standing quickly the former Scarlet stripped his leather headguard and Uncercity tabard, tucked them into the enchanted hip bag and handed the surprised Druid his weapon. Then he strode forward bold as day. It took everything in her for the Druid not to call the power of nature to root the foolish Human into place. The formation of Warriors before him readied weapons and tucked the caster behind them.

"The Living Quarters are in danger," the newcomer bellowed, "all available soldiers are to help evacuate the civilians!" He pointed toward the section in question.

They started at him for a moment, no one among them of sufficient rank to speak for everyone. Finally the Mage-Priest asked, "And who are you?"

"Does it matter?" The Druid wished she could see the look he gave her, "The orphanage is on fire and burns while you ask me stupid questions!" The panic in his voice, feigned or real, caused several of the men to glance in the direction he was pointing. "GO!" The haggard man bellowed. The caster finally took a step away; it was all the excuse the others needed to flee towards the orphanage.

She was the last to leave however, holding some sort of mental ground against this stranger in black, "Who are you? I would give your name to the Commander." Weather that was threat of consequence or promise of reward was unknown.

Even threw his back the Druid saw him smile at the woman, "Give him this from me and tell him he owes Nekov a trade." He reached inside the pouch at his hip, the same which now bore his wadded up tabard and head cover, and withdrew a fat cigar. The woman took it, frowning as if the thing would explode in her hand, and placed it quickly in her own bag. Wet cigars did not smoke well.

The slight hesitation in her movements bespoke the curiosity at such a message. As she turned to go the Druid was certain she saw a slight glimmer of recognition in the woman's eyes. As if she had been trying to place a name to the face and hadn't been able to until her back was turned to the man. The sodden figure headed quickly for the Main Gate, strait to the Commander.

As soon as the spell-flinger was gone Kayas sprinted out of hiding, tossed the man called Nekov his scythe and both bolted into the gatehouse. The wonderful thing about being Plague tainted is that it made you so much stronger than mortals. Well, that or it made you not feel your muscles ripping as you moved things two people should not be able to move alone. It took all the power of her bear form, jaws clamped around the turn and rooting herself in place with each step she took backward to lift the gate.

When Nekov went to slam the bolt home he found it not there. It took more mental reserve than the Druid had to give, in that heart-pounding moment of being so close to escape, to root the lever into place. Had she been better gifted in the art of natural magic she may have been able to make the root tighten and turn the lever for them, opening the gate further. As it was they barely had room to squeeze out, stealthing and sneaking every inch.

When they got outside it was just in time to notice the undead army rushing past on their way to another gate. One of the ghost-eyed skeletons happened to glance over and see the gate cracked. It halted, called out in a strange screaming song. More stopped, skeletal Warriors and rotted casters loping over to investigate.

They were horrid to look at, decaying corpses that had once been Human. Most of them were missing most of their skin and by all rights should not be able to move. Their shambled and unhurried gate bespoke mindlessness, or else a single mind in dozens of different bodies. Rusty weapons and even more rusted and withered armor rattled as they moved towards cracked gate as one.

_By Elune, no!_

The Druid leapt from the shadows and quickly undid the roots holding the lever. The distance was greater than she'd ever worked roots before…

"What are you doing?" Nekov's shouting caught her attention a second before he slamed her into the wall. A sword meant to kill her barely scraped down her ear, shaving off the finest of hairs but not drawing a drop of blood. It broke her preoccupations with the vines and when the gate came down it didn't come down far enough to prevent someone slipping underneath.

Or for undead hands to lift it with shear force alone and prop it open for a waiting lot to just walk threw.

She was stunned, staring at the soft white eyes of the undead man. He loomed towards her again, raised the two-handed greatsword up-

Nekov exploded in a flurry of movement, raining sharp blows with the black scythe. He may as well have wielded half a dozen longswords for how many pieces he made of the walking carcass. Kayas had seen Rogues and Warriors and Hunters learn their weapons, had watched them fight and practice, but never had she seen someone who was absolutely untrained in the military use of a weapon wield it so precisely.

Before she could speak he turned to her, "You stupid girl!" The hook of the scythe was dripping gore and the black ooze the undead had in place of blood.

"I couldn't let them inside!" She slapped him across the face to snap him out of whatever raging stupor he was in. Warriors often had to be knocked senseless to stop them berserking or bring them down out of that heated battle rage. "The Dark Lady-"

"The Queen didn't send them: Arthas did!"

Kayas understood then. Really understood. She had not though they would attack her because the undead in Tirisfal Glade belonged to the Dark Lady and the Dark Lady wanted her alive. How wrong she had been…. And Nekov had just saved her life and afterlife.

The rotting dozens before them stopped, the smell of death and decay permeating the air in a decidedly different way than the undead Forsaken smelled. One single collective continence shimmered threw all their sets of ghost-white eyes. Finally one of their number, bigger and viler than the rest, stepped forward, pointed to the Druid.

"The Master wants that one. I shall deliver."

"_Oh, fel no!"_ Kayas and Nekov swore at the same time - battle cries in their own languages - while shifting into their respective battle stances.

The Scourge attacked.


	43. Compound Fracture

~*~ Chapter 42 ~*~

~ Main Gate ~

Salira

The rush of blood was not a sound in her ears so much as a reality of her surroundings. It spilled downward into the rain and despair, running in rivers threw the scaffolding that scaled the insides of the main wall. The wounded drug themselves away from the stampede of feet and waited their turn with one of the healers; few as there were to do that particular job. A few had given over to insanity, screaming out their rebuke of the Light that their lives should end like this after they had already survived so much.

Death is never pretty in Tirisfl Glades – not in these recent years – it never comes and leaves a being with their dignity intact when it goes. The stench of the dead on the wall melded with the smell of the swollen, rotten meat of the undead out in the darkness. Behind the sheets of rain and just out of reach of the Light the Dark Lady's black arrows proved to be more troublesome than any one archer should be able to produce.

Salira Porter returned to the wall - to the fighting - with news from the Field of Agony. The entire area was consumed with magical fire; it spread to the buildings there, escaping threw the tunnels and was now coming up in other sections of the compound. Worse were the flying rumors the spirits of the dead traitors who had been brought to the Light's justice were feeding the fires.

Every now and again merciless winds shifted direction, bringing smoke to their eyes and their lungs. In the blackness that followed they were forced to squat down and wait it out. The first few times the smoke came and went the lives of archers or Priests went with it. The Banshee Queen didn't need to blink threw the irritation; she was quit capable of finding her mark in the dark.

There were half a dozen undead with the former Ranger now. Dark Priests who shielded their Queen with shadow energy. Since the arrow that found it's mark the undead Queen hadn't moved an inch to advance, dodge or retreat. She simply stood and massacred from afar. Two of her Shadow Priests were not as lucky. Their incinerated husks lay not far away.

One of them had been Salira's work, much to everyone's surprise – least of all her own.

"Commander!" The disembodied voice was screaming over the din of thunder, fire and whipping rain. "The Warlock is gone!"

This got their attention. Commander strode over and helped the Mage-Priest up the last few steps, but they were swiftly ordered to keep firing. There was blood on her feet from the swift travels. No doubt the fancy slippers her ilk were like to wear had been sucked off her feet as she fled threw the muck.

"Say now, what has happened?" The one-eyed man demanded as he held the woman by her shoulders.

In place of an answer she reached into her bag and brought out a thick cigar, "Nekov says he owes you a trade. The Warlock, Druid and the jungle cat are also gone."

Which of this news struck the Commander silent was hard to say. Snatching the cigar from the huffing woman he strode over the length of the wall and threw it down into the darkness, "I'll have your head, you witch! Turning my own men against me!" The bellow was met with a fresh peel of thunder from advancing lighting that lit up the black length as it tumbled threw the air.

Down on the ground the Banshee Queen watched the tiny object fall. Blinking over she caught it, grinned, dropped it and was back under her Priest's shields in seconds. Where she had been a moment before was now riddled with arrows. They blinked out as the Light infusing them was recalled. The archers were diligent, if anything.

"Not if I have yours first." The voice coming from behind the Commander surprised everyone. The Mage-Priest shrieked and leapt backward, only to find herself slipping on blood and falling from the top of the scaffolding. A quick word to the Light made the feather in her pocket feed an ancient magic spell… she floated gently to the ground.

From behind the Commander the Banshee Queen gave a short shove and the man was balanced on the edging of the wall faster than anyone could move. One more shove and he would land right where Nekov's message had.

That is until a flurry of movement and the Banshee Queen doubled over in pain. She took the attack to the ground with her: the apprentice Priest who had been Lighting Salira's arrows. That quick sucker punch to the gut, filled with all the righteous fury she could muster, caught the Scourged elf off guard.

"I did not expect that," the undead Queen commended. A slight lightening of the malicious glow in her eyes caused the Priest to struggle away. Even so, she was lifted from her feet by those undead hands and thrown headfirst screaming over the edge of the wall. When the Dark Lady let go one hand came away bloody. It was a long fall into the night for an apprentice Priest inept at levitation spells. Forced to hear that scream suddenly cut short as the meat hit the ground the others on the wall went ridged. "I think I'd like her on my side."

Salira was horrified, mouth hanging open inside her helmet, tears mixing with storm water to run down her chainmail. Whatever she and the Dark Lady had shared in the woods was gone now, evaporated like so much kindling to the hungry fire that spread behind them.

Twin summons from two different voices caught their attention. "Commander!YourMagesty!" Up on the battlements there was no room to fire arrows lest friend kill friend. Over the edge of the wall a Rogue materialized, an elfin man dressed crown to softly booted tow in faded black leather and smelling richly of cheap moonshine. A woman climbing the scaffolding three stairs at a time was chasing him up the wall.

"Yourcommandermagesty!"

"One at a time!" The Commander bellowed with a slam of his broad axe on the stone nearest him. Sparks flew, raining down over Salira and causing her to jump away even further. Her heart was racing, wondering which one of the straining archers, all of their dozens of arrows Lit and pointed in a neat glowing circle around the Scourged Queen in their midst, would lose their nerve or their strength and let the first arrow slip. "You!" the commander pointed at the woman who had come with _his_ news.

"Commander, sir! The Scourge is at the East gate!" The large woman's huffing caused the next sentence to come out broken, "We don't know why but the guards we set there are all gone, abandoned it or … I don't know but they're breaking threw!"

Angry eye snapped around to glower at the Banshee Queen, teeth gnashing and spittle flying as he opened his mouth to condemn the already damned woman. The Rogue cut him off.

"Your Magesty! The Scourge are at the East gate. I vanished and got away but the Warlock – Serz or Sean or whateverhisnameis – he's still there!" The normal calm of his class was betrayed by the panic in his voice. Salira noted the accent was neither Darnasian nor Thelassian. It was purely Human and judging by the dialect she pegged him for Andorhal. Strange.

"Shadows of Darkness, damn him to the seven hells and back again!" The exasperated Queen exclaimed, making fists of her supple leather-clad hands. The spiked tips glittered in the Light of the arrows. "Did they know?"

Having so many eyes on him made the Rogue back to the edge of the wall and poise himself to leap off if necessary. "No, Magesty. We caught them off guard." No one doubted his ability to survive the fall.

The Dark Lady straitened, mind already whirling with military strategy. She was a genius after all. "Nekof and my Druid?"

"Can't say." The covered head shook and then sagged a little with unspoken regret, "Came strait to you."

The Mage-Priest had finally made it back to the top of the scaffolding, knocked aside by the previous woman on her way to herald the Scourge's arrival. "The one you call Nekof-" _huff-huff_ "he sent the guards of the West gate off to the Living Quarter to evacuate the civilians away from the flames. I'm guessing they will be headed to Cathedral Square."

The Commander sputtered a second again and then roared, "By the Light, woman!"

Cathedral Square, as they all knew, was the section of the compound that also housed the West Gate. _Surely_, Salira wondered, _he though he could escape before they got back. Surely he didn't open the gate and let them threw on purpose. Surely… _She had know Cid Edgar well in her time in the Scarlet Campaign, had been a friend of his and had even gotten his transfer to her compound approved when they had shipped him out of the Monastery just the year before. He wouldn't say why but when he had found out about the Monastery Massacre he had hugged her and thanked her for getting his transfer approved.

That was the last time she had seen him. To think he was here, alive, in the enclave after the things that had been said about him…

The Banshee Queen raised a finger and pointed it at the Commander accusingly, "The Light has failed you again, Commander. The Holy Shield around this place has been gone for more than half an hour and the Scourge have come a-calling. Someone up your chain of command has betrayed you; your Priests belong to Arthas."

Apparently the commander had not stopped to wonder how the Banshee Queen had been able to get threw the Light barrier in the first place. She was there on his wall after all and by all accounts… should not be. Slowly his neck craned around to look at the nearest Priest.

Everything became a blur of motion. In less time than it took to determine who was friend and foe the Priests along the wall all screamed the name of their prince and let lose on the living with devastating shadow magic. The cry was echoed across the entire compound as hundreds of other Priests did the same.

In the end the only living things left on the wall were those who would take to their graves the images of the Scarlet Commander and the Banshee Queen fighting back to back to bring down their uncommon foe.

Some things are better left out of history books. Makes for bad patriotism.

~ East Gate ~

Serz Huzad

Warlock was not surprised that the Rogue vanished and left him there alone. What were two or three-dozen armored fighters compared to a paltry excuse of a Warlock in bloodstained and torn robes? Know fear!

Yes, correct. _I am not Corrosa._

Out of the shadows bellowed a cacophony of noises. The term _shadow_ was relative though; the entire place was lit up by the blaze. The trees still cast shadows however and from these came shrieks and hoots, animal calls and the wailing cries of the risen dead.

The Scourge turned to face the noise, dismissing the lone Warlock as a threat and was met with far worse foe. Sylvanas' Angels poured out of the night in a whirlwind of yellow glowing eyes and light refracting sharpness. An enormous black panther attired for battle and a Night Elf in form-fitted green Quel'dorie styled hunting leathers led the assault.

The Scourge general had the audacity to laugh. That was his mistake. The hesitation gave the Forsaken children the upper hand in the attack. If the Scourge though their small statue meant they were slower or weaker - they were quickly corrected.

The first wave slipped amongst them like so much sand threw the cracks of a deck. Hands snatched and weapons swung, but one consciousness slowed the movements of so many hands. The children filtered threw until they flanked the Warlock. Caspin and Mr. Meows slipped around to stop their advance on the road and a row of children winding up spells cut off any retreat. There would be no advancing or retreating to another gate: it was fight or die. Die – like shadows – being a relative term.

In seconds they were surrounded.

In those few seconds the Warlock wrought a demonic circle, out of which an enormous demon came to stand before them. It towered over the children like a giant amongst ants. Almost as tall as the gate itself the fel-bent guardian demon had one thing on his mind: the blood pact the Warlock had promised him the first time he had been tempted from the Nether.

"Do not waste my time lesser creature!" The demon boomed glancing down at the tiny husk of a man by his ankle.

"Tel'eshel is a waste of your time, Joogun?"

The ember glow in the demons eyes brightened, "I have little need of an _incubus_." He slurred the word is if such demons were far inferior to his own breed.

The Warlock grinned lecherously, "Perhaps not a need, but a want I am told. And told in detail-"

With a cry of battle lust – as much to silence the Warlock as to rouse the attention of his enemies – the fel guard sprang forward; bringing his enormous two-handed axe up and slicing the General clean in two. The head was neatly cleaved before the body even crumbled.

"Five minutes for ever head you bring me; is that worth your time?"

A grunt answered him as the axe came down to sever the arm of a Scourged food soldier. The soldier's sword was lodged in the Nether-forged armor enchasing the demon's thighs.

The children on the other side froze the advancing enemies in place and were lighting them up like so many tapers on a window sill come Hallow's End. They laughed and giggled to see the skeletons pulling their own legs apart in an attempt to attack. When they had no feet to walk they crawled. This brought no end of entertainment as the children leap circles around them and continued to break them apart with ice and engulf their heads in fire.

Caspin and Mr. Meow did not fair as well. Where dozens of children had the magic of ice and fire and numbers to keep their enemies at range and finish them off there was only the single boy and his cat. Or was it a single cat and his boy? The Warlock wondered at times.

The Kaldorei seemed to be following the great feline's plans of action. First the cat rushed forward, dodging blows from axe and sword, claws lashing out and coming away with tangles of rusted mail, then he slunk back and made them chase while the Scout rained down black arrows. When four of the Scourge lay in crumbled heaps, shadow-infused arrows sticking out of their brains, the undead caught on. Kill the boy, not the cat. They rushed in to do just that.

Apparently mindless zombies _can_ be taught!

The children flanking Warlock sprang forward, coming up behind the Scourge who had turned on the Scout and made use of their sharp and shinnies, as they called their small dirks and short swords and axes. The first three of Arthas' minions to fall had that third of the company swinging back around to face off against the children.

Joogun was merrily chopping away as if the dry corpses before him were so much firewood. Much as he would complain about having to do work for his Master, he dearly loved to massacre. And yes, in his opinion, the undead were as capable of being massacred as the living. As long as he made someone miserable at the end of the day, did it matter what he or she was?

All he did was done for Tel'eshel, that incubus whom he was sure the Warlock though he must have some attraction too. In truth the lesser being owed him blood and he intended to collect. Five minutes for every head? All he needed was five minutes and he would bleed the creature half-dry and let him beg for something in return for the rest of what Joogun intended would be a very long time together.

Some demons needed to be taught their place.

"Caspin!" Serz called over the crack of frozen bone, the crunch of shattered ribs, the delighted squeals of children and roar of the panther, "Boy, _now_- go to the West Gate! Warn them!"

Without a hesitation the Scout was gone, vanishing into the shadows and was _just gone_. Mr. Meows eyes glowered at the Warlock but he resisted following. The sword that scraped across the armor protecting his spine caused the seething beast to bite the hand that owned it and twisted to pop it cleanly of the wrist.


	44. Compound Problems

~*~ Chapter 44 ~*~

~ West Gate ~

Kayas had discovered two simple truths in her short existence as a Scarlet. The first was that the Plague caused the person infected, be they dead or alive, to regenerate on their own. The Plague, as the Dark Lady had said pulled them back up and knitted flesh to bone and rather quickly.

This was the only thing that saved her during the initial rush by the Scourge. Their blows maimed and stunned but did not otherwise kill prey their master wanted alive. That was how they handled _her_ at least.

The second lesson is that a Warrior needs their armor. Her escort was Plague tainted but did not have the skills to turn rage into healing energy. The first few waves met with resistance, being knocked back by both she and the Warrior. The first time a parry failed to keep a sward from coming away bloody the warrior jumped back cursing, forearm turning red.

Shifting quickly the druid sending green leaves of healing energy into his arm and was back in the fight in so many split seconds. For his part the warrior was thrown toward the gate and ordered him to stay while she did work.

He openly sulked.

Shifting back into the bear she rushed again, mauling and swiping along the way, rending and tearing, thrashing and mangling threw the Scourge. With no healer every blow took the rage she channeled and healed them as quickly as they could cut. Threw natural talents she could keep the rage-into-healing spell rolling full time where others could only sustain it for a mere moment. The thickened hide of the bear form took a beating from sharpest blades and hardest blunts. Bluntness there was to be had for she was grateful then that these Scourge did not have a weapon amongst them that would pass for "sharp".

The power of Cenarius pulled strength from the ground and firmed her thick hide even more, taking on a skin of iron tree bark. The memory of the ancient who had taught this specific spell made her long for home all over again. This hesitation of sorrow cost one missed thrash at the leg of an enemy and a sword blow to the back of an exposed skull.

What the minions lacked in strength they had in sheer numbers.

The smell of blood trickled threw the air mingling with corpse rot and smoke. How bad the damage was she cared not. The furry of the fight, the smells and sights of being in battle, of fixing so many wrongs born on the legs of these Scourged enemies made it worth whatever price they took in turn. Under the weight of so many desiccated hands the gift of dulled nerves was a bonus. The plague seems to have made her bear form stronger… else the Scourge were trying not to damage her too much.

_I wonder what the Dark Lady would say if she knew this undead Human prince wants me alive_.

She roared, smashing a great square head into as many of them as possible, rocking back and forth, smashing over and over again. Soon they lost hold, skeletal hands coming away with bloody clumps of fur and settled for attempting to beat the howling thing into submission. _Good luck with that._

A non-coherent battle cry followed by a soft _shink_ that sounded distinctively like arrows being fired. The shout sounded strangely like someone mistranslated Gutterspeak to some kind of shanty Thelassian.

The immediate effect was the undead stopping their assault and turning to face the new threat. Unable to see threw ragged armor or the multitude of legs – at least the ones who still had them – the Druid endeavored to use the distraction to cause devastating damage from behind.

Slicing and crunching noises meant Nekov had rejoined the fight. The scythe slashed and swirled threw the air like something personified, taking off heads as neatly as one might pluck the leaves from a radish. Unfortunately for him the Scourge soon realize the new threat was not as eminent as the old one and turned to finish up what they started on the armorless Warrior. The Druid wasn't tall enough to take off the head, but the man with the scythe certainly was!

"Bloody. Painted_. Farm tool!"_ he was cursing over and over again like some strange battle cry.

They surged all at once, more than he could defend against and drug the weapon from his hands. Only when his hands were empty did the Scourge laugh and poise for the killing blow. They were a sadistic lot, enjoying tormenting their foe even in the heat of battle.

He vanished in a cloud of translucent smoke.

The Druid stared at the spot he had been in, blinking as if the blood in her eyes made it so she couldn't see it. Before they could turn back to her a volley of arrows came raining down out of the sky, pinning cloaks and feet, knocking some to the ground (1).

"Come, hurry!" It was the Scout in dark green Quel'dorie styled hunting leather. The rather impressive bow he wielded glowed with blue energy, though if the glow had a purpose or was just decorative was unknown. It was blue and gold in the High Elf style with wings flaring out at the ends and a large red jewel in the center that also served as a scope. The string was a line of blue energy running the length of the bow. There were no arrows on the scouts back but when he drew the string back to fire again a blazing black arrow shot off with the release of tension in the curve.

Another volley of arrows rained down to cover her escape, dazing everyone it touched. Shifting into her feline form she ignored his attempts not to stare and fell in step beside him as they fled. It wasn't until several minutes latter did they realize the pursuit had broken off and the Scourge had gone back.

They wanted inside the compound more than they wanted to chase a Druid down on foot.

~* Outside Cathedral Square *~

Salira

Salira Porter's sides heaved as she, the Commander and the survivors from the Main Gate neared the gate that separated Cathedral Square from the rest of the compound. Inside was a confusion of activity. All the civilians were inside, the gates locked and barred. The Archbishop stood on the steps of the Cathedral giving reassurance that all the danger and commotion would be over soon.

The orphan children and their Matron were steered to the center of the group and surrounded by those of the civilians who carried weapons. No other fighters save the man who had brought them were present.

The Commander sounded for the gate to be opened but the gatehouse was empty and the crowed was too far away to be heard over the din of the storm and it's wild winds. "I say, open the gate! The Scourge are attacking_! Open the gate!"_

All around them cries of battle and the sound of screaming women and men could be heard. The Priest had attacked in unison, as if given some massive signal that it was time to begin the assault. The shadow magic that ripped lose from one end of the compound to the other sent arcs of purple energy shooting so high in the air it could be seen clear cross the enclave. Hundreds of bolts of lighting traveling upward into the sky, each one carrying with it the life of a Warrior or a Mage or an archer. Only the civilians were safe from the attacks…

… locked inside Cathedra. Square with the Archbishop.

"Damn you all to fel, open this gate!" The Commander roared. Surely they would be able to hear him?

Salira had taken down two Priests on their way threw the compound and another once they got their. They had been caught off guard, unaware that they had come across those who knew how they were betraying the Scarlet Campaign. One of the archers was not so lucky; he had felled another Priest who attacked them from atop a tower, calling down an enormous fiend made of sizzling shadow magic, but the beast had ended him the same time his arrow ended the Priest.

Salira watched the man fall, recalling his name in her mind. Payton. Payton Marlow from Silverpine. His family had been driven out by Worgens and he had joined the Campaign because they were promised Silverpine would be freed form the Worgen as soon as Lordaeron was freed from the Scourge. Salira had taken dinner with him once, his boyish flirting making her smile. But as suddenly as it had come his attention had diverted and he found another female to entertain: this one as willing to share his other interests as well as his table.

_Was it wickedness you saw in her? The willingness to betray her people? Was it my virtue that made you put me aside? My loyalty to the cause? I hope you rot in zombie hell, you bastard._

A whinny broke threw the cracks of thunder and the crackle of foul dark magic. They turned from the gate to see the Banshee Queen astride a reanimated red-clad warhorse. Behind her came an army of her Forsaken followed, each bound in gray and red armor and robes. Over armor and cloth was fitted the blue and black tabard bearing her insignia. It matched the rain and fire and the lightning tragically.

One red glowing sword was out as she pointed to various parts of the compound and gave sharp instructions in Gutterspeak, the language of her brand of Scourge. Each time she finished talking a man or woman also mounted on bony steeds rushed off and were followed by foot soldiers. Each company had one of her Shadow Priests with it as well as another caster in black and red robes. Fire-specialized Mages. Six companies total, one for each major section of the enclave.

"What the hell are you doing in my compound?!" The Commander yelled hefting is great axe as if to slice the lone Queen down where she sat.

"Cleaning up. Something you lack the ability to do at the time." Then she noticed the locked gate. "Is that where your civilians are?" Behind her the fire lit up the sky, outlining her like some sinister Warrior Queen, glowing red eyes included. Oh what she must have looked like astride her steed in life, the lone force between Quel'thalas and the renegade prince of Loarderon. This time it was not her people she sought to protect, but people she looked to acquire.

"I'll not be letting the likes of you anywhere near those I've-"

"Save it!" she snapped at him with such a tone as to make them all jump, "I've no time for games. You know as well as I do that there is a difference in the Scourge and the Forsaken. Better your dead raise and find me waiting for them than Arthas, yes?"

The Commander went red faced, single eye dilating in hatred, "What difference there be I care not; all of you foul creatures are abominations to the Light-"

"I'll take that as denial." She signed, studding the gate. "Rogue!" The summons was met with the elven man from earlier stepping out of the shadows to kneel by her horse.

"Majesty?"

"Open the gate. Pick the lock or whatever it is your kind does." It was apparent she though very little of his ilk, helpful as he obviously was going to be at a time like this. From the rooftop nearby a random archer fired a shot in the general direction of the queen and was blasted off the roof by a hidden Royal Guard. The arrow went wide and pinged off the gate, not even sending a spark into the misery and storm.

The Rogue strode over to the command box, the engineering mechanism that normally opened the gate if there was no way to manually open it. The code had long since been lost as the Gnomes who built the gates had been forced out of the enclave when the Scarlets thanked them for their 'help' and shoved them outside to meet the Scourge on their own.

A quick few movements of his fingers over the gears and knobs and the gate was slowly lifting.

The Commander took the opportunity to attack the Banshee Queen. She saw it coming where she sat watching with a delighted smile. The first blow was met with her horse's teeth snatching the axe from his hands and then turning to butt him with its head. He stumbled back and stared at his open hands a moment.

"She likes me." The Scourged woman smiled down at the Commander, "Don't you Pilipa? Such a loyal companion, even after I felled her." She reached over and stroked the straggling bits of mane that still clung to the chucks of re-hydrating flesh at the neck.


	45. Short Transitions

~*~ Author's Musings ~*~

After three and a half years of being the ONLY Corrosa there are now 23 of you in the armory. I'd believe it's just a coincidence if two-thirds of you were not also warlocks!

Confessions or no…I'm flattered =^_^=

~*~ Chapter 44 ~*~

The rain seem to make all the animated corpses of Lordaeron swell as their dry flesh drank up the moisture. Unfortunately it was followed by a period of rotting once again as they dried out again. The smell was unbelievable and it made sneaking up on the living much harder. The death toll in Loarderon dropped dramatically after a rainstorm.

One of the archers spewed in the grass while watching the Dark Lady run her sharpened nails through the war horses scraggly mane. The smell caused two others to follow. The Dark Lady didn't take notice; very accustomed to seeing such a thing wherever she went. The rest of them had arrows trained at her though; they knew without the infusion of Light all they would do is annoy her _and_ the hidden guards. They had seen what happened when the Dark Lady got mad and had a face to pin that anger too.

"Give the nice man back his axe, Pili, he has worse things to worry about than me and you."

As if she could very well understand every word the horse obediently reached her neck out to give the man back his weapon. The Queen was all smiles, as if this gesture of friendship would somehow repair all the damage she had wrought on Tirisfal Glades in the name of propagating and protecting her Forsaken.

The gate was fully open now. The Commander hefted the axe up again and was about to bring it down when the Banshee Queen lifted her hands in truce. "You have bigger problems. Arthas minions are breaking through even as we speak. Go save your civilians. I'll take care of your traitor Priests."

"Ill not let you run lose threw my compound-"

She smiled at him, white teeth half hidden in shadows, "You have little choice, Commander. Your fighters are all dead or dying. This paltry band here is about all you have standing between you and _him_." She didn't need to say who _him_ was.

She waited a moment for the facts of his situation to sink in. He had lost control of the situation so fast he wasn't even aware. And here she sat telling him she was friend to his cause and was going to help set things to rights…

"I was at the Battle for the Castle, Windrunner. I saw your true face that night. Allot of us here put our trust in you once and lost the Castle. You left us without a home, without protections-"

Her head sank back far enough for the hood to drop off and then forward again with an exasperated sigh. "There was a Dreadlord if you remember." One sharp-nailed hand came up to refix the hood in place, pushing each long ear threw the tailored holes one after another, "He was going to kill you all. Similar to how Artha's minions are attempting to do to your lay-persons as we speak." One finger pointed towards the open gate.

"We barely escaped with our lives!"

She looked at him then, steady and very regal, "And whom do you thank for that escape, Commander? The Light? Or me? Your lives I gave you for I had aught else to give. The dead and the living should not reside together; of that we both agree. The Castle had to belong to someone and it was going to be me. I'll let you keep your enclave, provided my Druid comes to no harm. No promise for if you harm the Warlock. Serz Huzad does not belong to me."

"The Monastery-"

The Banshee Queen swung her sword so fast it cracked across the man's temple. He staggered back, eye rolling and fell to the ground in a heap. The Scourged woman spat on him, "That is what I think of you and your want of wagging your jaw when you should be protecting your people!"

She locked eyes with Salira and the Scarlet woman froze, heart threatening to skip beats under that angry gaze, "You. You're in charge now. Would you like to save your people from the Scourge or field more questions about those already dead and raised?" _Dead and raised._

Without a word Salira wheeled around, running headlong into Cathedral Square. As soon as she heard the civilians had been herded into one place she had a dread feeling it was a ploy to get them into one location so the Scourge could slaughter them easily and raise them up at leisure.

The Dark Lady did not follow. Whatever she did now she did without anyone to stop her. The civilians were who were important to Salira, especially the children.

"Out!" Salira bellowed as soon as she got close. The downpour turned the roads into rivers of mud and debris. She slipped and slid as she went but rushed as fast as he could to get there before the Scourge broke in. The gate was on the other side of the square and far enough away to be hid behind buildings and mausoleums.

_Light help us if even one of Arthas' necromancers makes it in here!_

The closest of the people gave her alarmed looks. Blankets and tarps blocked the worst of the rain but mostly everyone was barefoot and ill-dressed.

"Out! The gate is being breached! The Scourge are coming threw! Everyone has to evacuate!"

Cries of despair and the crying of children leaked up out of the assembled crowd. It was than that Salira noticed the mass of orphans in the middle of the bunch. The innocent faces and the frightened gazes sent her mind reeling back to an event that took place more than a decade ago in her cliff house overlooking the sea. Then, as now, innocent eyes stared up at her and trusted that she would keep them safe.

Biting down on the rise of pain and anger she straitened as a good leader should and pointed, making gestures that everyone was to file out the gate. To one of the archers she instructed that they would see them safely out the back gate. The compound had been utterly breached and it was not safe inside as long as even one of the traitor Priests were on the lose.

Not that outside was a much better option.

The archers obeyed, leading the civilians away. Last came the Archbishop. A finger on his arm and he stopped, looked at her and waited till the last of the innocent were out of the gate and around the corner.

"Your Priests are corrupt, Father."

He did not look surprised and Salira knew that in his scheming he had never expected to see the sun rise with mortal eyes, "I know, my child."

"What did he promise you?"

"The same thing he promises them all. Power. Life. Safety we don't have to fight for tooth and nail every second of every day. To be what is feared instead of being afraid."

Salira's mace was in her hand the same time the Priest uttered a quick shadow word that would have been the end of her if not for the spot of blood that bloomed on the front of his rain soaked robes. She hadn't even seen him standing there but when the shadow moved and Cigar stepped out she sighed in relief of one kind and sucked in a breath of fear in another. The balanced throwing blade was stuck in the man's throat, the thick poison cutting into his voice box, preventing him speaking the words that would heal him and numbing his mind even if he had the power to just think them and conjure healing.

Salira breathed out his name, "Cid…"

The – at least compared to the way he normally dressed – scantily clad man tossed a square of cloth to the ground. "Salira." Whoever had provided the poison must have instructed him not to touch the weapon at all least he accidentally poison himself.

"You work for _her_ now?"

His brown eyes were blank, almost hollow, "Do you?" He looked healthy?

"She said…" The Scarlet woman glanced down at the dead Archbishop. "She was right. She said there were people lying to us about what was really going on. How could he get to them, _all of them_, and no one knew?"

Cid came to stand next to her, put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. There was warmth coming off his body, and dry blood on the gash in his thin armor. He was still alive. Still bled. "Is she mean to you?" Her voice caught, almost too soft to hear over the thunder, "Did she hurt you to make you obey her?"

After a moment he relented to the questions, "Maybe. I don't remember the first two days." The voice was soft without trying to disguise the truth, " In the end it really doesn't matter. I kill the undead for her the same as I did for the Commander. I'm still doing the same job, but now I can make my own hours. The pay is non-existent but room-and-board is included."

"Your lame attempt at joking at a time like this is lame. Where is the Druid?"

Something hostile slid out of the space between them. "Headed to the back gate last I saw."

Salira's eyes went wide. Headed to the gate the civilians are headed to – no doubt with Scourge in tow. "And the Warlock?"

"Headed to the back gate as well." It was the elven man, the Rogue from the wall, winded and panting slightly, "Scourge reinforcements have arrived and all our outside forces are routed. They're all headed for the back gate now that the civilians are moved." He rubbed a hand up and down his ribs as if trying to soothe away a pain.

"Does the Lady-" Cid began.

The Rogue shook his head, "Left out the front gate when I told her."

Salira asked a dangerous question in the company of two men who served the Banshee Queen, "Is she running away? Does she think he's coming back to get her?"

"Not her." The Rogue answered, "The Druid."

_Oh, sh_- Salira pulled away from them both, breaking into a flat our run for the back gate.


	46. Outside In

~* Author's Notes *~

I realized in this chapter I never described the scout in any detail except to say he's a bit younger than Kayas. Since it's going to be a while before I get back to editing earlier chapters with this type of missing information I'll just take the liberty here.

FFN: Fix your on-site editing tools to actual save changes, please.

~*~ Chapter 42 ~*~

~ South Gate ~

Kayas

The South Gate was locked and barred. No one, short of some crazy engineer with some high explosives was getting threw that. Which was fine with the Druid, just as long as the Warlock got there sooner rather than latter and helped seal her escape. He was late however, not given the swiftness of speed that a Dishu form Druid and the long-legged scout possessed.

As she sat beside him in her feline form, stealthed and swiveling her ears around for any signs of trouble, she noted more closely the scout's manor of dress. The leather was soft and supple, meant for a youth, and cut in a very becoming way. The jerkin, sleeveless and with a high neck, fell to low pointed V in the front and back. It fell halfway down his hips, hugging the contours of his body like a glove. The breeches of the same leather and in the same shade were buckled about the waist with black leather. Silver frog closures went down the front ended with metal tips at the end of the V. The pants hugged him in a very nice way, though the length of the jerkin prevented her getting a good look at his assets on ether side.

_Pitty. He's not bad on the eyes, once you get past that … hair. Who let you do that… _Said hair was pulled back in long braids, dark aqua in color, and each braid looked to be clasped in a different bone closure. _Trophies? That's one way to display them I guess. How … Horde… of you._

He was barefoot, as most Kal'dorie were like to be, though she suspected this had more to do with his preference than knowing it was a cultural thing as well. From this close distance she saw that his pupils were not white as most Kaldorie were, but brown as the woman in her dream had been; his glowed silver and hers had not. She could see them both in his face, the horned Druid and the Shadow Sister. Saw them in his hands and his feet… but not his power.

The bow was held with reverence, as if it would shatter if it touched anything as foul as the ground. From his stealthed position he positioned it at the ready, prepared to skewer anyone who came near with one of his arcane arrows. Whoever taught him to shoot arrows _made_ of arcane energy obviously didn't know the difference between Kaldorie and Highbourn. Their hunters, scouts and… less scroupulous militia were allowed only base use of magic to enhance a weapon that already existed. Enchanting an arrow with a touch of the arcane energy to add a crippling sting was one thing, but to forgo the arrow itself in favor of pure magic?

_Maybe he does know? _She doubted that, however._ If you could have seen them at the ruins, those ones who use magic… what it did to them… what it _still_ does to them… _She wanted to quit thinking about it, lest her nightmares of the Priest come back in real time to haunt her as they had in the Plaguelands. Now was not the time for educating him on something he may well be aware of and choosing to ignore. After all, he lived with Forsaken so what did they care if his eyes went from silver to yellow like their own? Like hers.

They waited.

"So," Kayas startled him with her sudden shift and voice breaking the silence, "What brings you to a Scarlet enclave this time of night?"

His words were harsh, clipped, guarded "Rescuing my father."

She had seen his parents in her dream; he was as Kaldorie as she by birth, if not moreso. But when a man does for a feral child everything that Serz did for Caspin he got to be called father and that was that. "And me?"

"He wouldn't leave without you."

_You would have left me here. _She shifted back into her feline form and moved away from him to the other side of the gate. It hurt. There was no lying about it or disguising the truth. It hurt like regret and rejection. Not that she were unaccustomed to either of these, but there was no getting used to it. Especially not when it came from someone who was so damaged. _If I were a Priestess I would know how to heal your heart. But I'm of a feral soul I do not heal those kinds of wounds._

"Look!" He snapped at her and when he had her attention forgot what he was going to say. Finally after a long moment of staring he said, "Your crazy. All you Night Elves are crazy. You're judgmental," his voice was raising, "you think your way is the only way," he climbs to his feet, bow in front of him like a shield against her, "you think you're the only people in the world who ever made a mistake and had to live with the _shame_. You locked yourselves in your forests for ten-_thousand_ years and didn't come out till the world was about to burn down around your ears! You're arrogant," his voice was echoing off the walls – her ears were up and stiff- "you think your cause is the only important one in the entire world and what's more," a lean muscled, bare arm shot out to point accusingly at her, "you're a hypocrite! So don't sit there and judge me when you're no saint yourself!"

Where all that had come from she had no idea. Her people were the oldest race in the world and the most powerful: no one could contest that. The Highbourn had been arrogant and they had paid for their sins. It was their fault for continuing to tamper with magic. Her people, the Night Elves as the mortal races called them, had purged themselves of most things magical and lived off the land in tune with Elune and Cenarius.

Someone had hurt him and hurt him badly. This kind of anger didn't come from growing up in a loving home, or as close to one as a Scourged servant of the Banshee Queen would provide. It bothered her that she didn't have answers. Her dream had no shown her the things that he himself did not even remember. Had he ever known his mother and father? Surely he must have had some kind of contact with another of their kind in his short life…? If he had his impressions would certainly not be that they were rank, arrogant and hypocritical.

"Not me." She whispered, shifting back into her upright form, but staying stealthed in the shadows.

"What?"

"The name he gave you. It means 'not me' in Darnasian."

There was an absolute moment of stillness; an instant of perfect harmony where neither was on guard and neither was on the attack. Sometimes two people can only exist at two ends of the extreme but every now and again those ends can tip and for a brief second they even out again. And then it tips back.

"No, it doesn't." The though was dismissed too quickly. It wasn't the translation he rejected, but the translator.

"Yes it does. You were saying it over and over again when Serz caught you in the Plaguelands. _Cas pin_ _Cas pin._ Over and over. _Not me, not me."_

The arrow on the lax bow string shimmered in response to his snap of anger, "You don't know anything about the Plaguelands!"

Her look was incredulous, "The fel I don't! The dreams I had-"

For the briefest second his eyebrows went up in grief before coming back down over his nose, "I don't care about your stupid dreams, you weren't _there!_"

She realized then that he had no idea what a Druid really. He didn't know about the Emerald Dream or Cenarius or Ysera or Elune. He didn't know that any Druid who had a dream was as good as having it happen to them. In their dreams they were _there_, it was happening to _them_. Even though they would awaken and it would have not been them in their waking life it had been them in their dream. Dreams became memories for Druids and it didn't matter if they were their own in origin, they became part of the Druid. If they dreamed it, it happened to them.

This was understood, so very _understood_ in her society.

She _had_ been there. It _had_ happen to her.

"I don't know why Serz hasn't found you a proper teacher yet, but being this old and absolutely inept in the knowledge of anything Kaldorei is appalling! Your mother should have stayed in Silithus or at least left you there with your father when she went to Andorhal!"

The scout's eyes got as big as gold coins, his mouth slowly dropping open. The bow was up, aimed and fired almost as fast as she could move. The stones behind her head exploded with shadow energy, sending dust out into the rain.

_I though that was an arcane bolt?!_ The sudden switch from one magic to another caused panic to bloom in her stomach. Leaping behind him, temporarily lost in the air because he couldn't track her paw prints, she landed. With a quick turn a paw lashed out to knock him on his knees. The bow splashed to the ground.

He cursed something fierce in Gutterspeak and rammed a foot back into her chest, just about stopping her heart on impact. Her feline wheeze was accompanied by a cry of surprised as all ten of her claws sunk into the back of his leather jerkin and he was pulled backward. The leather was enchanted to reduce penetrating effects so he wouldn't bleed for her… from that.

Trying to roll away didn't help as his lower body was held down firmly by the light black bear now sitting on his legs. Her moist nose nuzzled the back of his neck but the metalwork on his collar would prevent any damage her teeth might cause.

For a moment she was annoyed.

"Now, now, what's all this!"

Kayas and the scout both snapped to attention and flushed guilty. Serz Huzad, Mr. Meow and dozens of Forsaken children were catching up to them from the West Gate. In their frenzy the fighting pair hadn't even heard them approaching.

"_Get off of me_," the scout shouted, red faced with shame and upset enough to burst into tears at any moment.

"What did you say now?" The Warlock narrowed his eyes at the scout. How eyelids managed to squint when there was no eyeball to squint over would forever puzzle the Druid.

Kayas jumped to her feet and allowed the scout to get off the ground. She leveled an accusing look at his caregiver, "Why hasn't he been educated in Kaldorei culture? He doesn't even know about the Emerald Dream!"

For his part the man managed to look both stunned and then guilty, "Well you see, m'lady, that was sort of why I brought him to Tirisfal. I was sort of hoping…"

"Me?!" Her mouth dropped open and then snapped shut, "Certainly not! Neither of you have the right to ask that of me, no Horde does!"

"Hypocrite." The scout's eyes were on his bow, busy cleaning the mud off with delicate care. "I'm sorry I dropped it." He apologized to Serz. His voice was hollow, alone, as if all the fight had suddenly left him.

"Nevermind that," the Warlock dismissed it as if it would make his ward's dour mood better, "we have bigger problems." He was pointing in two directions at once.

Kayas followed one line of his bony arms and looked threw the gate to the crowd of people coming. Hundreds of them by the look and a good third of them were children. The one in the lead had armor and weapons but none of the rest did. The rain was letting up some, making it possible to see more than a few yards away.

The scout's back snapped strait, bow at the ready once more and once again raining down black arrows. The Druid's gaze followed the other length of arm and saw what had pursued the Warlock here. Though slower than anyone who could think on their own, they nonetheless moved with a steady gate. All their eyes were locked on her. The children, who had before remained silent and anxious, gasped and pointed again, this time behind the Druid.

Now the ones who had been headed to the East Gate were lumbering along. Why they had suddenly changed directions was unknown for certain but the Druid had a feeling it had a great deal to do with the billowing smoke and fire covering a good half of the compound and the unarmed populace headed towards the back gate.

_Oh, Goddess on High, what have I done? I meant to spare people becoming undead, not damn hundreds more in their place! _Deep down inside she knew this was punishment for breaking that promise she had made almost a lifetime ago. When humanity and magic mixed, generations paid the price.

Even as the scores of Scourge moved in from the left and right there came the sounds of more from the forests in front of them. On the south end of the compound was a flat plane and on the far end of it was a chapel dedicated to the Light. Normally a place of private reflection for anyone wanting to get away from the confines of the compound it glowed softly in the distance, creating a golden halo in the rain. Around that chapel, far enough away to avoid getting burned by the Light marched an even larger number of Scourge. There were even two abominations with them, outlines clearly visible as they towered over the rest.

The gate began to open, the sounds of chattering Humans mixing with the sounds of clattering and moaning minions of the Lich King. They were too far off to see beyond the gate and by the time they got there the Scourge would be there as well and it would be too late to close the gate. The Lich King was the greatest threat in Tirisfal Glades, marching his armies threw the nightmares of the Forsaken and Scarlets alike.

"Inside!" Kayas yelled and ran for the open gate. The irony of fleeing back into the compound she had just escaped from was not lost on any of them.


	47. Scarlet Oversight

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

Yes, I felt kind of moronic writing about a 'torture chamber' not only above ground but out in the, for all intents and purpose, wide open spaces. I'm so relieved I get to explain why it's there that I'm writing this note about it to make myself feel better! *Exhale*

~*~ Chapter 46 ~*~

"Insane! Did I mention you're all insane?" The scout didn't really think it was a good idea to go inside the open gate but the children, jungle cat and the Warlock were following so he had little choice.

_Smack! _"That isn't how you talk to a lady unless you _enjoy_ her teeth at your neck!" the Warlock ground out.

"I'm sorry." Though he wasn't.

The single armed-and-armored man saw them running and took his fighting stance, "Stop, Horde."

"Wrong again!" The Druid disagreed, giving him four knuckles to the jaw. "Druid. Of. Auberdin! Not Horde! Not Scarlet! Not Scourge _or_ Forsaken! Kal-dor-ei!" He dropped to the ground, hands around his face and two-handed sword plopping in the mud. "Any objections?" She looked around, both hands raised, nails out.

The civilians stopped cold, adults stepping forward to protect the young and old. The Warlock and the scout came up to flank her with Mr. Meows making an impressive display in his blue and silver feline armor. It was the same Quel'dorie design as the scout's leathers and the impressive bow.

"Good," the Druid said, "now close the gate; the Scourge are marching and I don't now how long your shield is going to hold them out."

"No shield." Someone said. Man or woman was uncertain from their panting and location behind the crowd. "The Priests betrayed us; they work for the traitor prince now. The Archbishop is dead."

"Come again?" Priest… betraying?… the living? The absurdity that such a thing could happen, that those meant to protect and serve the very essence of humanity could turn around and serve the very essence of destruction? _Elune on High, is anything sacred enough to never be betrayed?_

The crowd parted for the speaker. It was Salira, followed by Nekov. There had been a third but he disappeared into the crowd the second it had parted and Kayas couldn't locate him anywhere. It was probably a Rogue of some sort, though obviously of no consequence. Upon seeing Nekov the crowd parted more.

The Warlock stepped forward, "Well I had noticed the ease of my departure but I marked it up to whatever method Theron's man had planned to get me out. I had not expected to come back in so easily."

Salira nodded sharply and gave orders to two of the males standing behind her. The gatehouse was locked and barred from the inside but was opened quickly when Salira barked orders. Apparently she was in charge now?

Salira shook her head, "How many?" She was not concerned with the Priests or the shield, for they were out of their hands now. The gate began to close as they watched.

The scout proved his rank. "Thirty-seven on the West, twenty-three on the East. Two abominations, four mounted units, half a dozen gargoyles and two units of food soldiers, twelve each. All from the south. One caster, probably a necromancer though they could possess healing abilities. Plus however many of their soldiers are sound enough to raise again after we fought them at the East and West Gates." The scout paused, "And however many Priests your own forces haven't killed yet. How many defenses do you have left?"

Salira blinked at the scout. "Damn, son. Were you born with a gift or is it some training we've been neglecting to give our recruits?"

The boy had the decency to look modest, "Wargames with the children." Said corpse children were hanging back behind everyone, wary of the living and dead alike. Their trust was not easily earned but very easily lost. All of them knew what would become of them if either Arthas or the Scarlet marmots captured them.

"We have one unit left, a mix of archers and foot soldiers. One mage-priest inept at healing." The Warrior took a deep breath; "The Banshee Queen brought her soldiers and casters into the compound claiming she was doing us a favor by getting rid of our traitor Priests."

"Where is the Commander?" Serz asked, "He seems to be missing."

"Ah… Sylvanas kinda … hit him with her sword… for talking too much. Instead of going to get his people to safety immediately." Salira winced knowing it sounded as bad as it was.

"She has a habit of hitting people with her swords when they are wont to talk too much." The scout grinned in open admiration, "Blade or flat?" He ignored the incredulous look the Druid gave him.

"Flat; knocked him out cold," Nekov answered, "Not so much as a nick though, so he won't turn for good."

The Warlock nodded, glad that that was settled and squared away. Salira let out a sigh of relief when the gate settled into the mud and sank deep. "That should hold them out."

The scout scoffed, "And who will protect us from what is in here?" Purple lighting was seen from every corner of the blood washed fortress. The flashes were so bright it completed with the light from the magic-fed blaze and when it ran into the black wall of smoke it created mini sonic booms of thunder.

Magic and rain clashed in the bright darkness and night.

"That is a problem," the Warlock agreed. "The Dark Lady can be trusted to bring down as many Priests as her minions may find, though what will happen once they are defeated is a guessing game."

Nekov narrowed his eyes, "Some of her best people are here to quell the Lich Kings minions, those trained to fight those who are alive and drawing on Arthas' power, but she left out the front gate headed back to Undercity."

"Bringing reinforcements?" The Druid asked hopefully. She would take an angry Queen who wanted her alive over the Scarlet Commander. The Dark Lady wasn't threatening to kill her by sunrise if she didn't deliver her a living weapon.

"Sylvanas doesn't do her own fighting. She hasn't in a very long time; not since the Battle for the Castle." It was the Commander, finally caught up to them after so long. A nasty bruise had bloomed on the side of his face, shaped like the weapon that struck him, but was otherwise no worse for his encounter.

"Salira is in charge now." Nekov was quick to establish this fact in the face of his old superior.

The Commander finally noticed his former underling, blinked and squinted threw the rain and muck. "Man of many names, you are. Which one are you using today?"

"Nekov." The former Scarlet's voice was quiet and dangerous, holding bake rage and betrayal in the face of their current situation. "Only Nekov now and to the end."

The Commander knodded, "She makes living weapons." The Druid hissed at him but he continued, "Be angry at me all you want but you'd have done the same. Would have left them all behind to keep her out of that devil's hands and any true champion of the Light would have taken the sacrifice willingly."

A long silence followed, punctuated on occasion by screams and cries for mercy filtering in from other sections of what had been a bastion of life for the living, all of it fallen apart and come undone so quickly.

"The Lich King fields his _armies_ with champions of the Light who took the sacrifice willingly. A debt is owed and it will be settled. But not tonight." The black scythe he had strapped to his back came to rest under the Commander's chin. For his part the man did not flinch. The back of the blade was sharpened, an augmentation made to turn a common painted farm tool into a real weapon. Like a curved long sword on a seven-foot, curved pole. "I serve the Queen of the Forsaken now and what my Queen says goes. Salira is in charge. Do you protest?"

"When you already have your weapon at my throat and your foul minions overrunning my command, how can I!?"

"The quicker to help us all reach an understanding and agreement." The blade was withdrawn; Nekov turned back to Salira. "What say you, boss?"

The reality that her former friend had not allowed the Commander to retake command struck the lowly Warrior like a ton of bricks. "I'm not a commander, I don't know how to lead-"

"Save it, Salira. You know about the Mills and I now about your house on the cliff. Don't tell me you've never lead a fight against the Scourge."

The Scarlet woman gasped and paled, eyes shining suddenly with tears. If they were close enough, the Druid was sure she would have slapped the black-clad man hard enough to spin his head backward and send him back to his precious Queen that way. "I didn't tell you that so you could use it against me in service of Forsaken, revenge-obsessed zealots!"

_Kettle, meet pot…_

Serz was moved to speak, "Young man, you don't throw someone's history in front of the tram and run them over will it to gain compliance!"

"We don't have time-"

"Ms. Salira - is that what you like to be called? - if you want me to … keep him quiet I can do just that and gladly." That shimmering darkness was back in the Warlock's eyes. Nekov ground his teeth shut and wisely crossed those fists that looked so much like they wanted to pound the undead man's skull into maggot-mush.

She shook her head, "No, thank you Sir Huzad. I understand – I don't like it but I understand." Her brown eyes locked with the other's brown eyes, "If you remember what happened last time I tried to make an army to fight the Scourge-" -her hand was pointing behind them all… to the lifeless children who stood between them and the gate. "I wont have it happen again. Not again. Pick someone else."

Nekove ground his teeth again in frustration and growled, "There _is_ no one else, woman! He'll fight the Forsakena and the Scourge and not give a damn who is here to help and who is here to kill!" This time the Commander crossed his arms in order to avoid slinging fists.

"Both of them are here to kill," the scout said quietly, "But as it's already been pointed out, there isn't an assurance that the Forsaken wont turn on the rest of you once they run out of Priests to kill."

The Druid, who had been quiet and watching the black hole where the gate was, finally spoke, "What if the Priests win the day? They had to know the Dark Lady wouldn't just stand by and allow the Lich King to go recruiting willy-nilly in her own territory. Not when she has already laid claim to everyone who could serve her in undeath." The Human term 'willy-nilly' is one she had picked up traveling threw the Plaguelands, along with a good bit of understanding of how the Lich King liked to do his recruiting.

They were all quiet for a minute.

"You're asking what their contingency plan is?' The Commander was glaring a hole threw Nekov but far more worried about his decimated armed forces, flame ravaged mages and traitor priests. "No way they could have known the Banshee witch was going to be here. If I were him I would have… taken over the compound from the inside using the priests to bring down the archers, opened the cellar door to take care of the civilians and foot men alike, and put the shield back up to keep the _Forsaken_ out." He spurred the distinction, detesting there was need for it. Kayas knew from experience that the Scarlets deliberately did not speak the difference between Scourge and Forsaken lest the mind start to believe e a difference existed.

Serz' eyebrow skin rose up, "Ah, what do you mean?"

That one good eye glared at the Warlock, "You think I got my position for my good looks, man? Pay attention! There is a reason some of us survived the Battle for the Castle when that she-witch set her dreadlord on us." With everyone looking at him he bowed his head for a moment and then looked up at Warlock once again and asked, "Did you ever wonder why we kept the Field of Agony above ground and outdoors? That is a rather impractical way of torturing information out of prisoners."(1)

Kayas spoke before she though, an adolescent curiosity getting the better of her, "I did." Both ashen hands were over her mouth in apology as both men looked at her dismissingly and back at each other.

"Something wrong with the underground facilities, Commander?" Nekov had no shame in asking. "They were shut down and you never told us why. No one ever told us why. You just imported mages from Dalaran come looking for missing family and then they disappeared when that shield went up."

"I'm a master and old enough to be your grandfather, plague-ridden traitor that you are you will not speak to me that way. Maybe some day I can take this hammer and show you why I'm in charge around here and you were kicked out of the Monetary." When Nekov looked surprised the Commander barked, "Yes, I know about that!"

Nekov went to strike at the man but Salira whistled sharply, "Answer the question. Why did you stop using the cellar? Those tunnels go from every corner of the compound and can be used to escape if only you hadn't magically sealed all the entrances."

The scout spoke for the first time, causing them all to shift a little and look at him, "If I were sealing tunnels shut that had been dug under the whole compound to facilitate escape should the place ever be overrun it wouldn't be to spite people going in… it would be to stop something getting out."

Salira's attention snapped back to the commander, "What did you do? _What did you do!"_

He made another hard decision, Kayas though. He sacrificed another part of his humanity to keep the living amongst the living. At least the ones he was able to protect. Grudgingly the Druid was beginning to understand this man, though it didn't go as far as thinking she would ever like him as a person, for the hopelessness of his situation. His home and people were decimated, his forests and towns overrun with the walking dead and he was besieged on all sides by enemies that far, far outnumbered his own. And yet here he and his were, up till recent events, alive and safe inside their red-washed fortress.

It had only been a matter of time before something went terribly wrong.

"Four hundred prisoners and one-hundred-fifty of our own inside when I sealed it off. It doesn't matter how or why it happened; someone infected one of the prisoners and let him lose. He hid, died, rose and infected the rest. They were killing everything. I locked the gates and made the mages put magical wards on it. I had to keep the rest of the enclave!"

Five hundred. Five hundred and fifty undead minions of the Lich King trapped in the tunnels spanning every second of the compound.

_Elune on High, don't let me hear what I don't want to hear. _"Did the Archbishop know about the locks?"

The Commander looked at her like she just spat on him. Then his eyes widened, his jaw loosened, his lungs filled with air. "He did," the old man said slowly, mournfully. "Yes he did."


	48. The White Priestess

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

Lots of Notes incoming!

I saw fan art of Darkshore once and was amazed at how BIG the port city of Auberdine would have been in lore, as compared to the small quest hub it is in the game world. The Scarlet compound is about the size of New Avalon/Tyr's Hand but sectioned off like Stromgarde Keep in Artahi Highlands. If the reader is interested in in-game visuals do a fly by or Google image search.

9 pages of outlines crit me for 9 billion and ran away with my cognitive functions…

Google "Fantasy Armor and Lady Bits" by Mad Art Lab. Thank me latter.

There is more at stake than life and land

When the undead walk with single plan

One king rules all with vile demand

Break them all who would withstand

~*~ Chapter 47 ~*~

The Scourge arriving at the back gate was announced by ear-shattering screams from the gargoyles and roars of battle lust from the horror-stricken abominations. Though those inside could not see how they worked the gate, the sound of rattling, smashing, grinding and magic sizzled threw the air and reverberated threw their bones. The Scourge were coming.

Five hundred and fifty undead under them, a few hundred outside and a couple hundred traitor priests inside; the Druid threw in all the Banshee Queen's people just because they were _not_ on the side of the living. So add several hundred more on top a thousand or so and it would not be a stretch to say the five or six fighters the Scarlets had left were outnumbered. If any of the other fighters survived from other sections of the compound they were nowhere to be seen.

They were trapped between sections of the fortress overtaken with fire, traitors and the Scourge.

"So what happen to the mages after they locked the gates?" Salira spoke to the Commander but took a step back every time the iron-crunching sound of abominations beating on the gate thudded through the rain and despair. The civilians screamed and huddled, a few hundred warm bodies crying out to be saved. Most of them had lived this very night before, over and over again in their nightmares since the experiencing it in their own villages and farmsteads. Most of them have even known that some day it would come again, though that admission did not make the reality any easier.

The Commander grunted, "Guess." If the Scarlet warrior was going to make him say it, he'd say it. Salira may be in command for the time being, but her heart was too soft to stomach the hard decisions he had made to keep them all alive.

The Druid wanted to take her claws to his backside and hear him scream, "You locked them in, didn't you?"

"No one to know how the seal was made; no one to betray it to the Lich King's minions. Or _her_."

A sonic boom of thunder split the air as another streak of purple shadow magic hit the wall of smoke. Half the fortress was up in flames; it spread towards them now, a wall of fire wanting revenge on the living. The living quarters were gone now; including the tower Kayas had stayed in during her short prisonership.

The scout's luminous silver eyes watched the blaze in fascination. All elf-kind were sensitive to the ebb and flow of magic and he probably had no idea why it drew him in as much as it did. When the Druid put a hand up to block his vision the young kaldorie snapped out of his stupor and frowned at her. Glad to have him stop drooling over the destructive forces of magic she turned back to Salira and waited for instruction.

The Warlock cringed every time the Scourge struck the gate. Or was it when the children screamed? Either way he signed heavily, or would have if he still had lungs, "Ms. Salira, I think we are in need of an escape plan."

"What, you don't want to stand and fight? Take as many of them with us as we can before we're all massacred? Isn't that what good champion's of the Light do?" Nekov looked more annoyed than anything. The Dark Lady had commanded him to get the Druid out and not to bother coming back without her. That she wouldn't leave without all the rabble pricked him to no end.

The fuming Scarlet warrior resisted the urge to take her blood-soaked weapon upside the tainted mortal's skull, "One more word out of you and I'm going to have those little mages iceblock you and float you over the gate as an appetizer for the Scourge!"

The undead children were absolutely delighted with this idea and quickly huddled together speaking their gibberish language and discussing how it could be done. Salira's stomach flipped and flopped and settled. It was unnerving that it did settle, instead of keep flipping. The children were Sylvannas Angels, fighters every one. As trained and deadly as any of her great champion, just travel size in small bodies.

These little Forsaken brats were currently their best and only real group of fighters. They were afraid though but more of the Scourge than the living, though their small group was huddled away from the rest. The tallest Quel'dorie child seemed to be in charge, a blue tinged mage in her own right, and most excited to see if she would get to iceblock the Queen's new toy.

The rain was letting up now but the ear splitting thunder, screaming, sizzle of magic, screaming children, praying adults and the Goddess-awefull noise of the Scourge at the gate made her long for the wing-song quiet forests of Ashenvale. Pure, alive, beautiful and nothing like Tirisfal Glades today. The heart of a Druid ached at the though of what this place must have been like before all of this.

Kayas swallowed and glanced sideways at the warlock. "I have a suggestion," she proposed when he noticed her look and returned it, "You can… make portals?" She'd rather step from the top of Teldrassil than force herself threw a warlock portal, but the new situation of her reality said she would die all right-but not stay dead. It certainly put a whole lot of things into perspective that were not even consideration just weeks ago.

_What am I becoming? Forsaken? Am I not still a Druid of the Wild, a child of Cenarious? _ For a moment her brain clenched to remember things from her childhood that had driven her to the Druidic arts, things that happened when people forgot whom they were and made excuses to do things just because they now had the power to.

The Commander busted out laughing like it was the bawdiest joke he'd ever heard in his life, "Sean? Of Darrowshire? Make portals? That's the funniest thing I've ever heard! The man can barely keep that imp of his alive, if he could pull any real magic out of his fel-tained carcass he'd have done it to get you out of here a week ago!"

Serz was miffed, "I am quite skilled -! At. Things?" The sentence ended in a question mark, the Warlock allowing them to realize he was speaking about things he would rather not. The Forsaken man had his secrets and none of them were hidden in any shadow-warping tome. How he kept a living cat and was granted immunity by the Scarlets chief amongst his requests for silence.

Kayas suspected she was the only one he was unwilling to share his admissions with, and not for his own reasons either. If she ever saw the Priest again she was going to demand a lot of answers about this admittedly terrible warlock.

Mr. Meows' ears perked up, black eys looked in the direction of the front gate. While the Commander and Serz argued about his talents as a warlock and how useful he was not being at this time, for all his immunity to the Scarlet Commander's ire at having a Forsaken running lose in his compound, Kayas followed Mr. Meows towards the gate that lead into the compound.

Something was coming. She felt the taint a long ways off, thrilled inside to be able to feel it even though the same taint twisted her own body, if not her soul.

Shifting into Dishu form she kept pace with the big kitty till they got near the gate leading into the other sections of the fortress. Though the fire covered a good third of the Scarlet holding it had not yet gotten to the front gate. There the panther waited, ears perked and staring into the brightness but unwilling to advance into unsecured sections. Seemed the feline had a sense that all was not well. Just to their left were bodies in the mud and in the air hung the smell of rot, blood and acid magic.

The great feline called out once, twice before he was answered. From nowhere came the Banshee Queen astride her undead warhorse, eyes being seen long before her form appeared out of the smoke. A cape that would have billowed as the horse thundered towards them was pinned down. Someone rode with the Dark lady, white arms wrapped around that narrow waist, holding the cloak around its wearer

"Back!" The Dark Lady pointed one finger at the armor clad cat and rode past. Mr. Meows warbled in happy agreement and followed at full trot. Kayas wondered if the cat weighed more then the horse, the former being more than just bone and patches of rain rotted skin. It was an odd though to have as she watched the blue, silver and black shape roll after the Dark Lady

The rest of the company was none-to-happy to see the return of the Banshee Queen. Indeed they had though she was gone back to her city to hide from the Scourge. Those white arms disentangled themselves from her hips to let the Dark Lady swing down from the saddle. Glowing eyes blinked in and out of view as she drew the passenger down after her.

The Commander crossed his arms and glared, replaced the helmet that had been hanging from his belt and waited to see what was going on. Serz stood next to him and waited as well. Nekov strode over to his Queen and nelt quickly, pointed out the Druid and gave her a quick run down of the situation. She bade him get to his feet and snapped something sharp at him for getting hurt. He leveled a look at her and tilted his head as if to say, "Told you so." There was too much warmth behind his eyes, like a boy who didn't know he was _in like_ with a woman and took liberties to see what she'd put up with to have him near.

He ignored the pale skinned stranger, supposing her to be another Forsaken until she put a finger on his arm and golden Light glowed. The healing spell finished what the Druid's only paltry healing had started; the Druid kept her surprised to herself. The Dark Lady had left and gone to get a living human? And form where? And why? The compound had enough _priests_, what was one more going to do?

Silver hair fell just past the shoulders and belonged to a woman much, much older than the seemingly middle aged human. She wore nary a stitch but for the tabard of the Scarlet Campaign fastened about her hips for the sake of what modesty it provided. Mr. Meows hung back, second guessing going near this woman, her stood bare feet sinking into the mud as she stood, head swiveling to gathering the visual of their situation.

"Now, my dearest _priest_ess," The Banshee Queen stressed the word as if it were significant, "my part of the bargain is fulfilled. Get to work on yours. We have no time to waste." Exactly what their contract had been was never elaborated upon as the silver-haired priestess tilted her head back to gaze up the sheer cliff-like walls surrounding them all. The shapely head tilted to the side and she seemed to grasp the idea of what was expected of her.

Kayas followed the black cat's wariness. He was attempting to get closer for a good sniff, but every little move she made had him jumping back even further. At this rate he would back himself out of the compound before he got his identifying whiff. The Scout may not own the cat but was certainly tuned into him the way most of his kind was like to do with animal companions. He called Mr. Meows over to him and attempted to distract him by checking his armor. His own armor was nigh impractical to fight in and it seemed he would be doing just that soon enough.

They all would.

Kayas herself had no bad feelings from the woman herself and could not, aside from her obvious Scarlet affiliation and priesthood status figure out what had the cat in a tiff. Then she turned to look at the Druid. Kayas ears when back and she tensed as those red eyes landed on her. The woman's skin was pale, giving her a very washed out appearance. Maybe that is why the red markings under her vivid red eyes stood out. Something about her was… wrong. Mr. Meows had been able to sense it but the Druid had needed to see it to understand. The priestess wasn't entirely sane if that particular look was anything to judge by.

Her voice was soft though, "All of this for you then?" There was no condemnation in the tone, not rebuking or judgment… but there should have been. There should have been anger and sorrow and accusations, a whole host of reactions to something outside of the Druid's own little world. Those red eyes stared strait into her, seeming to find their way into her memories and read what was on the surface. For a moment they were linked and then she left the Druid's mind. "What a light you cast for such a tiny little spark in the night."

The Druid was about to shift and ask her what 'all this' was exactly when from over the walls a huge bat creature got impatient with the gate and decided to charge in alone. Who needs ground troops? It shot downward threw the rain and smoke headed strait for the pale skinned priestess. That elegant head tilted a little to the side as she watched the creature speed toward her. A chorus of civilians screamed as the Commander ordering his ranged underlings to open fire. By the time they were finished getting ready the creature was already to them.

The mouth gaped open a good two feet with six-inch fangs aimed to strike. Green plague-tainted eyes fixated on the narrow woman. Though it had no arms and only scraggly patches of fur, the clawed feet were impressive enough for the Druid to dive under the Banshee Queen's horse for cover. The dead animal had the grace to not care one iota about the Druid, civilians or the screaming horror from the sky.

"So impatient. You are weak. I shall cull you." The priestess whisper had a seductive edge; men would gladly jump to please if only she would open those sweet red lips again and speak once more.

Kayas did not expect one leg to shoot out to the side as the woman suddenly ducked into some kind of odd fighting stance. The beast was only feet away when she came up and collided with its rock hard belly, driving a shaft of golden light right threw its center like a lance. Though the Druid was close enough to feel the crackle of holy magic coming from the priestess she was sure the woman would be flung backward from the impact.

Instead the shield around her had stopped the gargoyle cold. It stared at her for a second, just inches away on the other side and supposed it wasn't dead from the first strike so it still had options. The silver-haired priestess traced fingers in the air and shot a lighting bolt of golden illumination at the things face. For one brief second the entire being lit up and was as quickly put out again as it crumbled to the mud in not so much gravel as a whisper of gray sand. The wind carried the dust over her bare legs and into the Druid's fur.

The world became quiet for a moment, even the smashing of the gate and the sizzle of magic and steel from other sections of the stronghold paled to silence for an instant. The priestess scanned the sky looking for another volunteer and seeing non, leveled her gaze to study the living members of the enclave.

They stared back

It was while the Commander was staring as if he'd seen a ghost that Kayas realize why she had such a drawback to seeing her; she very much reminded the little Druid of the images she saw of the warlock's soul. They had similar hair, narrow build and way of tilting her head when processing information. The dead version that became Corrosa did not tilt her head anymore, but she didn't weight much more than a leaf and her natural hair, judging by it's most frequent style of 'stuck my finger in the Priest's contraption', was white-blond where this priestess was silver-white.

"By the Light!" The Commander rushed forward at accepting the reality of the woman who stood before him, "Praise be! The Light has returned to us!" He knelt in the mud before her and took her hands in his, began to pray fervent prayers of thanks.

Serz edged towards the Banshee Queen, grinning fiercely at Nekov when his eyes couldn't stop traveling up and down the pale woman's lack of real covering. Yes, the Warlock must have been thinking, you can look all day but you will never see it all. The phrase 'legs that don't stop' suddenly became very, very clear to the gray-and-green feline who in turn was edging towards the scout and Mr. Meows.

The Warlock approached his Queen cautiously. "My Queen," he said by way of greeting and swept into a full bow, down and back up, "there are better options than this, if I guess your plan properly. That one isn't… stable. Lovely, but walking just right of the sanity line."

When it became apperant the Banshee Queen wasn't paying attention to him he turned slowly to see her glaring at Nekov, who was still trying to peel his eyes away from the Priestess. And failing. Striding over she took the cloak from her own back and settled it on the woman's shoulders. When the other made a show of removing the tattered garment the elfin woman hissed threw closed teeth, "They can see that you aren't infected, not a scratch or bite anywhere. Now cover up." One of the wicked daggers was out and cutting slits in the seams for the narrow hands to fit threw. The effect was a very long, shapeless dress that opened as she moved, revealing a peak of the red and white tabard, but otherwise covered her neck to deck.

The priestess met those red eyes with her own red eyes but did as she was told. Her own pale tresses were whiter than the white of the Dark Lady's, but tinged in gray where the tall elf's were edged platinum blonde. Running a hand under her hair she brought it out to settle on top of her new garment. The hood was left down, catching most of the white spill.

"As you wish," she replied softly and with a small curtsey. "I would tend the masses while there is still time, lest we lose the day and there is no one left to say the proper words." There was a lack of violence in her, which confused the Druid who knew full well how Scarlets acted towards the undead. This one was far less ready to strike the Forsaken Queen than the Commander.

The Dark Lady nodded. The priestess turned towards her adoring fans and stepped forward to be amongst them. She began passing out praise and prayers to all who could touch her. They whispered fanaticly at the sight of her, shuttered at the touch of her hand and fell down in tears should she touch them back in kind.

The Banshee Queen was close enough to Kayas for the green-streaked feline to hear her bringing Serz and Nekov up to date, "Dearest Jetadiah has vanished again, as he is like to do when annoyed at being moved around the board too often. Fortunately Corrosa is rather reliable about predicting this and providing replacements." That brilliant smile must have been beautiful in life. Now it was faded yellow, sharp and sinister. "Oh, but to have been a fly on that wall, seeing him arrive just in time to see Corrosa throwing her body threw the portal!"

You have seen him arrive a moment too late…

Kayas turned her attention back to said priestess. So she was from the Monastery? The Scarlets kept whispering about her hair for some reason. The Druid settled besides Mr. Meows and the scout to watch, three sets of eyes that did not abide this woman well. They watched. Silver was not a common color amongst the young of the human race Kayas knew, was it really worth pointing it out over and over again?

So her mane was white, big deal!


	49. A Question Why

~*~ Author's Notes ~*~

Raptors wear bands around their arms and legs with feathers attached.

I see what you did thar, Blizzard…

/patsheadapprovingly

I'm sorry for all the typos in the last chapter. I didn't realize how bad it was until I went back to reread before writing this chapter. That's what I get for editing in a hurry.

I'm working on figuring out when some words are supposed to be capitalized and when they aren't. I've been capitalizing class when the word itself is used as or in place of a name, same for military titles, but recently discovered that's not always the proper way of things. Forgive the inconsistency in capitalization along those lines.

~*~ Chapter 48 ~*~

"The plan is to stand and fight?" Serz seemed willing enough to go along with whatever his Queen suggested, though he was apprehensive of the white haired priestess still.

"I would not give up the High Inquisitor if I had dearest Jetadiah to do this job, but he's grown weary of being my pawn from the time being and shadowcloaked his piece on the board." Those red eyes turned to the little Druid who was now sitting on one side of the scout with Mr. Meows on the other. "Since I value the Druid's scrawny existence over hers I'm willing to break every web I wove and rip it all down because _he_ knows what _I_ know." This was said directly to her, "How many archbishops and high inquisitors and warriors and rogues and warlocks must be sacrificed to save the pawn that can topple his kingdom? We'll soon find out."

Her ears went back and she glared. _I can't and won't attempt to topple anyone for you. The Lich King take you back for all I care, I just want to go home. _A voice in the back of her mind asked a very simple question, seemingly out of context but in the deaths of her soul saw the fortress awash in rain, flames and blood. It asked simply, _Where is home now?_

_So you're fighting their enemies for them because you'd rather they live than die by his hand?_ This confused the Druid, who fully expected the Forsaken Queen was here in a quest to acquire more subjects. It didn't fully add up with the MO of her kind of thing. The Druid had to admit that the Dark Lady, whatever that sinister being's plans were, probably had the right of it. _Better her than him she said._

Right now the white-haired priestess was the center of the universe in the enclave and it seemed the civilians needed her as a symbol of _whatever_ that they were on their knees in tears and chanting about her white hair like some kind of pray of hope. She brought them that glimmer, that hope, and instilled in them a fortitude to keep fighting to the last wee child if need be.

Striding forward on long legs the Banshee Queen called for attention, "We have a mutual enemy at your gate. I have brought you a means of resurrecting your protective holy shield – even if it means the Forsaken will be affected by it as well – but as they say, 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.' So let us work together to defeat our common enemy. We can squabble again latter, I promise."

The commander strode forward no, Salira in tow who was drying her eyes after receiving her own blessing from the priestess. "And what is to stop this becoming another Battle for the Castle, Windrunner?" Kayas wanted to grin in her feline form when the commander used her name instead of some variation of the usual 'witch' insult. _She's growing on you, isn't she? The same way you're growing on me, though none of us will ever like the person under those admirable traits. _Devil's Advocate, a friend of hers once called it; when you look at things from the perspective of the person who is obviously in the wrong.

Long, undead ears twitched in irritation. "What you mean to say is, 'Thank you, your majesty for going out of your way to help save my people instead of leaving them here in his hands to be butchered like so much chattel for the making of abominations.'"

His face got red again as it often did, "You think you can just march in here and do whatever you like?!"

The look the Dark Lady leveled at him could have withered grapes on the vine, "Your compound is overrun with traitors and under your feet are hundreds of undead- yes I know about them! - just waiting for a chance _you_. So yes, I do think I am going to waltz into your fortress and defend it like it's mine because as far as I'm concerned it is. Any objections?"

The commander was about to speak something scathing when the slightest touch on his forearm, too light to be felt through the metal, stopped him suddenly. The white priestess was there to fix all, "Given the unique position we find ourselves in I'm sure the he means to say we're ready to cooperate."

The Commander deflated like so much air escaping dead lungs. It was that easy to let go of command and let the red eyed woman assume the position. Salira was more than willing to delegate responsibilities. "Right then, what's your plan?"

A long, elegant finger came up to point atop the walls, "I am to go up there and recharge the crystals so that the Holy Light will once again protect us from the Scourge." That soft voice could have been tucking a child into bed. "Though there seems to be no way up the wall from here." The head tilted once more as she scanned the surroundings looking for whoever would tell her how to get to the top.

No one spoke. No one knew.

"I assume anyone who knows how to get up there is dead, dying or killing." Nekov was more annoyed at the prospect of fighting _for_ the Scarlets than in fighting Scarlets. At least he won the argument with the rogue over whether he would keep his weapon- though the loss of armor was an ever-present annoyance.

The mage-priest had been standing nearby, the very one Nekov had given his cigar to. She gasped to hear the white priestess' plan and stuttered, "I've never seen a single priestess be able to charge even one of the focusing crystals, let along all six. It normally takes two priests each to charge them all."

"I shall have to do it alone, for what other choices do we have? The Monastery is fallen; we cannot rely on it any longer. This last bastion of the Light is all that is left; it must be preserved lest all of Tirisfal Glade fall to the undead."

The Druid expected the Banshee Queen to be upset with this but she seemed not at all surprised. If anything she waited patiently for explanations to be made so the fun of seeing who would exist on the morrow could begin, "Trust me dearest, you wouldn't be here if I could track down that warlock's keeper. I find it disturbing for a man like that to have such strong wander lust."

"Ms. Banshee, if you could keep your warlock yourself _none_ of us would be here." Though the white priestess smiled, the ire the Druid had known had to be there finally showed through. "You take credit for the Monastery but in truth is that thing goes where it wants without a sheath to bind it."

_She did what to whom?_ Neither the white priestess nor the Forsaken Queen went into details. Kayas disliked it a great deal with people talked about things that she had no clue about and didn't elaborate. In her society it was considered very rude.

"Quite the right of it, your Holiness," the tall elf said, "but better I take credit then give credit where credit is due." She glanced at the Druid.

Kayas stiffened and shifted out of her feline form before she knew it, "How is any of this my fault?"

"How is it not?" The scout didn't look at her, just crossed his arms over the exquisite jerkin and shifted into a more comfortable stance. He wore discontent like some men wear loud jewelry. The plan had been to sneak in and sneak Serz out, not to have to stop and fight every devil and demi-god in the whole of Tirisfal Glades. And all for the sake of someone who didn't even appreciate their efforts.

She was close enough to feel the heat coming off his body. "This is why my people kept to their own for thousands of years. It causes us nothing but trouble trying to fix the world's problems when we have our own to tend to."

The scout snored a laugh and quipped softly, "Hypocrite." Mr. Meow squealed in protest when the scout went flying over his backside and landed on ground with a thump. If he wasn't going to stop with the insults she was more than willing to make him!

Kayas was about to jump over the jungle cat and teach this little whelp a lesson about hypocrisy when Serz grabbed her arm with one hand and the scout with the other and stood between them. The younger elf was half covered in mud and looked ready to skin live Druids. His silver eyes glowed so fiercely they lit the warlock up like small flame and illuminated a great many details the little Druid hadn't noticed in the dim firelight of the priest's hovel. Scorch marks, bite marks, and nail marks, all carved in living flesh.

However Serz had died, it had not been a simple bite that infected and turned him to the Scourge. What was it he said to the commander? Ah yes, _"I have been tortured before, and by those far more skilled than you?" _But who would have wanted to torture him? Why? He had asked about the Monastery then…

"Now, now, children! We'll have time for that latter." The scout was glaring at Serz as he got to his feet, miffed his guardian kept stepping in, "Don't you look at me like that, I didn't hear what you said but I saw you say it. Apologize." The first knuckle of his left index finger was missing but he pointed at the smug Druid none-the-less.

"Sorry." Though he wasn't. Mr. Meows bellowed at him and he cringed, "Ok, I'm sorry! Truly!" Though he wasn't. When he flicked an evil eye at the Druid he met her yellow ones with his own and sneered back just as adamantly. Once one of their kind got it in their head they didn't like someone, it was as useful trying to change their mind as it was convincing Dwarves they didn't like living underground after all.

The white priestess' head tilted again as she was scrutinizing the Forsaken, "Sean? Of Darrowshire?"

The undead man beamed, troubles forgotten in an instant, "Why yes ma'am! And you would be-"

Red tinted eyes pulsed with madness for a moment before red tinted lips whispered, "Your judgment."

It happened so fast Kayas didn't know who could have countered it. An explosion of holy Light rocked the entire yard, strong enough to make her blood burn where it swept through. For an instant they were all stunned, unable to move or hear. Two second and all of it came rushing back.

"STOP THIS AT ONCE!" The Banshee Queen had the almost unconscious white priestess by the back of the cloak and was shaking her hard enough to rattle every bone in her fragile body. From that narrow chest protruded a shadow bolt of energy that sizzled with blue-black magic. The bolt was attached to a line, which lead back to its owner.

The scout.

That bow, which had only just a fraction of a second before been strapped to his back, was aimed at her head, tip wavering back and forth to keep the center directly between those bobbling red eyes. His stance was perfect, the glowing string drawn back to his jaw and utter focus in every line of his body. If she made one more move he would lose that string and she would die.

The Banshee Queen would not stop shaking the woman till she peeled her blazing red eyes from the cowering warlock. "Whatever I have done to offend you," Serz pleaded, "My lady, please forgive me!" Mr. Meows had taken up the space between them, ears back and tail lashing in rage. Ten claws as long as the little Druid's hands each sank into the ground where they flexed in promise. _Dare me to._

Nekov had one hand on commander and one on Salira to stop them interfering. No doubt their attempts to save the priestess would only result in their own turn to be poked with that magic-wrought bow, or shook like a rag-doll. Though they resisted springing to her rescue, the tension in both bespoke barely holding themselves back.

The priestess made to speak and gasped for air. The string was pulled taunt by the scout. The shadow arrow released from her chest, dissolved into nothing and vanished. She gasped again, lungs sucking in a desperate gulp of air. The scout never took his eyes from her, all his discomforts confirmed and his distrusts made manifest. The hard look in his eyes, the way his body moved and voice belonged to someone much older.

"Try it again." he warned. "Give me an excuse to kill more of you. Please."

Kayas lips parted in surprise and awe. Ok, so he was good with a bow. Really, really good with a bow.


	50. Before Every Battle

~* Author's Whining *~

I'm a college student now so chapters, as you have noticed, are seriously slowing down. Not writing (my creative, expressive outlet) is driving me up the walls.

~*~ Chapter 49 ~*~

The blue phoenix bow didn't lower, only pulsated with power. The lines of his face were set in determination. The string of the bow touched the corner of his mouth, soft neon glow casting shadows on the opposite side of his face.

Maybe he didn't know his native language, history or anything about Kaldorie culture; however that didn't seem to stop him from embodying their greatest characteristics: marksmanship for one thing, and a love of enormous cats. Loyalty to his caretaker, who by all rights should have served him up to some demonic demi-god the day he was found, touched the Druid in a deep and profound way. She had lost a family once; had turned that rage and anger into perfecting the devastating strength of the Bear form. The scout had done the same: his love of his father made a shared enemy of the Scarlet Campaign. The Druid guessed his bow skill had never been honed on something as base as a target dummy.

The Banshee Queen released the white priestess, who took the opportunity to catch her breath and readjust the coverings. "Did you not hear me when I said you can fight afterward?' The Queen's white hair framed annoyed red eyes, giving her an even more sinister look. In another life she and the white priestess, who's own pale tresses framed an equally piercing pair of red eyes, could have been related, race aside.

"Where are the children you took?" The angry priestess looked ready to wind up another blast. Perhaps she would have had Mr. Meows not yowled loud enough to cause the humans to flinch. The cry received an answering response from the Scourge outside. Everyone cringed that time and glanced at the gate. Their attention returning to the scene at hand; the angry cats glanced towards the gate and then back at the priestess.

Salira, the commander and Nekov fretted about the gate as well. "Whatever issue you have with Mr. Of Darrowshire," Nekov stepped between the priestess and the cat, "it can wait for latter. We can worry about-"

"The children. Where are they?" The white priestess chewed the words like a wolf on a bone, unwilling to let it go. "You will tell me or I will let them take you all!"

Serz looked stricken, casting about for some explanation as to what she was talking about. "Perhaps if I knew which child-"

"Southshore, you crazy marmot!" Clear as crystal the undead Quel'dorie child spoke up. The grownups turned to look at her, brows up in surprise. Her brow was down in annoyance. At some point she had cut her eyebrows into short, sharp points just an inch away from her face and dyed them blue. The way she ground her teeth together bespoke a hatred of the priestess to match the scout.

"Southshore…" The white priestess breathed the word out as if it could sooth some inner churning emotion. "All of them? Every single one?" Her red eyes swept over the undead children and the elfin child who had taken it upon herself to be their voice.

"Every. Single. One." The child's ears were both missing, though by the look of it they had been cut post-death. The shortened ends now bore three points instead of one. "There is an agreement, you see. We are Forsaken by the living, but we do not forsake them. We aren't like you." The last word was a sneer and the regard was echoed amongst all the undead children around her. Little voices chimed in with, "We are Forsaken!" "The Dark Lady watches over us!" and "Scarelt marmots!"

The priestess' red eyes flicked to the Warlock, to the Dark Lady, to the scout, "That's a High Elf ranger's bow from pre-Shattered Silvermoon, is it not? They don't-can't!-make them like that anymore. Collectors kill for items like that. How is it he has such a thing?"

"Maybe I killed for it, just as you suggest." Said scout's voice was dark, dangerous. An undead warlock had raised him to be more than moonlight and baby furbolgs. There was shadow in him as there were in all true elves.

The commander was glancing back and forth between them all, but at the sound of stone crumbling and shrieks of triumph from the host outside, he stepped in, "Might be he found it. I care not as long as he can shoot it and hit something." He winced when the priestess shot him a narrow-eyed look. "Ah, enemies preferably. I believe we have little time left."

Kayas wondered for the first time just where the priest had gotten off to. Was his warlock with him? Had they left Tirisfal? And if they had did it mean they gave up getting her back from the Scarlet? If so, did that mean the collar no longer worked?

Reaching up she slipped a gray finger under the collar of her shirt and gave the metal collar a little tug. The shock went strait to her toes, amplified by her current state of sodden wetness and burned. The Dark Lady glanced over, "He's around here somewhere so don't get it into your head that you can slip that contraption just yet."

The commander grunted, "Besides that, you're still our prisoner."

"Is that why you gave her one of our tabards? Because she's our _prisoner_?" Salira had balked at being in command and gladly passed that command, but she and the Druid had grown close these last few days. This was a dark night for her especially, seeing a great many truths in every lie that had been told her by the Scarlet High Command.

The Commander signed as if explaining something to a child, "Weapons are weapons. She'll fight for the living with her last breath, and so we dress her in Scarlet red lest she forget whose side she's on."

_I wear this tabard because you almost hog-tied me to get it over my head. _"Would that my friends back home could see me now." There was no pride in her voice, but hollow resentment.

The Dark Lady beamed like the moon had broken threw the dense cloud cover and said, "We'll remedy that soon enough."

_My friends back home or what color I'm wearing? _The prospect of either frightened the Druid. Bad enough she was infected with the plague, but the though of carrying it back home where it might take root and spread, even accidentally, caused tendrils of apprehension to creep up from her guts. _Surely the priestesses of Elune will be able to help me, fix me? I'm not dead after all. I'm not!_

The warlock was suspiciously silent for most of these exchanges. Kayas caught his eyes and her eyebrows rose in question, one finger still under the collar. He smiled slyly back, rain soaked lips pulled tight across his weathered face. _He knows. He knows and he's not saying. _There was worry in his eyes though. He might know but it wasn't a matter of keeping a secret for it's own sake, but because it needed to be kept.

So many secrets for one warlock. It was the hallmark of their kind. Normally they squirreled away secrets of magic and conjuring, not the secrets of land, loyalty and governance. There are reasons warlocks aren't accepted into society; they collect and horde secrets to establish greater power and influence. But what of a man who had privilege, influence and secrets that did not stem from being a warlock?

_What of a warlock who was not a warlock at all?_

A deafening screeched flying over the gates caused the civilians to scream in return and scatter. Another gargoyle had gotten impatient and broken formation. It flew at the fleeing elderly with outstretched claws. Hairy, gaping jaws salivating for warm flesh.

A feral fire lit the white priestess eyes. She sprang away from the Dark Lady with a big smile, as if this very moment were what they had all been waiting for. Several bolts of holy energy found and stung the creature's backside. It wheeled around and headed towards the priestess oblivious of the fate of the previous contender.

Taking hold of the warhorse's reigns the white priestess unclasped them from the bit in a split second. The flying monstrosity was almost on her when she spun, flung and wrapped one line around its neck. Instantly it jerked upwards into the air. The priestess flew upward with it, dangling form the other end of the leather cord.

"Did you ask Pilipa if you could use her reigns to lasso sky monsters?!" The Banshee Queen looked as if she wanted nothing more than to chase the flying figure down but even her ability to vanish from one spot and appear in another would not take her far enough into the air to retrieve her horse's tack. The horse in question looked very confused and seemed a little lost. She started to wander away from the Banshee Queen in search of some unknown thing. The Dark Lady issued a sharp command in the language of her Forsaken but the horse ignored it and kept going. This greatly annoyed the undead elf but the disgruntled woman was looking once more at the priestess, the real source of her irritation.

Kayas realized that without the reigns the Forsaken couldn't control their skeletal mounts. She filed that away for latter use as she and everyone else watched the priestess winding upwards into the drizzle and smoke. The Dark Lady's cloak billowed out behind her, black and tattered and tragic in its disrepair. The slip of white leg or pale arms showed too that the figure was indeed a person and not some enormous black bird, though if you so much as blinked the illusion asserted itself.

The gargoyle wheeled left and then right. The strong hands of its passenger let go of the rope one at a time to fire holy bolts of energy at first one wing and then the other.

"Crazy she may be," Nekov said, "she knows the Scourge. She's steering it, catching a ride to the tip of the wall." He was awed. They all were.

"My word." Salira breathed out, "Not in a million years. I wouldn't have tried that in a million years."

Every eye was turned upwards as those pale feet touched the stone at the top of the wall. Turning sharply she sent a holy word of the Light threw the cord around the monster's neck. The compound was lit up as the creature lit up. Powdered gargoyle blew away as so much dust in the wind. The reigns fell slack and would have fallen to the ground, where the Dark Lady waited to retrieve them, if the priestess had no slug the length of it around her narrow waist and fastened it.

The Dark Lady howled, angry as a wet cat and fuming dire threats up the wall. The white priestess leaned over the edge, smiled and wave. The commander chuckled into his gloved hand, trying not to laugh at the sight of it. In the instant it took the undead Queen to whip around and silence his humor with a guttural threat the priestess disappear towards the outer edge of the wall.

Though none of them could see what was going on they immediately saw the first indication that it was working. From the spot the priestess had been standing came a soft glow of holy Light. It grew brighter and brighter in second till it shone almost as bright as the fire that bathed everything in a wash of red, orange and yellow.

"The focus crystals amplify magic," the mage-priestess explained, "so we used them to provide a holy shield over the entire compound. Any Scourge- I mean undead – ah… Forsaken? – are stuck on whichever side of the shield they are on when it's created. The priests could make openings to allow them to cross over but…"

"When the shield is up, my Forsaken will be trapped on this side." The Banshee Queen had expected this, "We will worry about that latter. Salira!"

The human warrior was startled to hear her name and obediently took a step forward before catching herself, "Ma'am?"

The commander squinted his one good eye at her, "You and she're on a first name basis now, are you?"

"Do be serious," the Dark Lady quipped, "I know the name of every single living being in my kingdom. Down to the last child."

The scout glanced at the ground in angst and back up. The Druid knew exactly what he was thinking. He was betting the Dark Lady didn't know his name, the one he was born with. For that matter, he doubted she'd know who had brought him to this wasteland in the first place.

"What's my name?" It was one of the orphan children, her matron clamping a hand over her mouth almost before the words escaped.

The Dark Lady smiled softly, "Emily Aiden-Marie Rethgar from Hammerfall in the Arathi Highlands. Your mother came here in the early days of the war to fight the scattered bands of undead. You're mother went back to Hammerfall to give birth to you and then brought you back here. She should have stayed in Hammerfall, or at least left you there with your father when she came back to fight in the war. They're both dead. Your father's corpse was burned by the Scarlets some five years ago and your mother is somewhere in Eastern Plagulands guarding a farm that is serving to brew cauldron's of plague. She's sentient, if not chained to his will."

The scout was stiff as a pine and trying very, very hard not to turn towards the Druid. The story hit too close to home for him. Judging by the reactions of those around her, it hit too close to home for all of them. Each of their stories was different, but on a level that can be compared to patterns, they were all the same. They fought. They lost. Some died. Some lived. Some serve in undeath. Some serve in life. Some are laid to rest. Most of them will never know true rest ever again.

The little girl's green eyes were wide. Beside her a hand shot up, "Me next! Where's my auntie Deleka?"

"Deleka Hosrench currently resides in the Stranglethorn Veil as part of Hemet Nessingwary's campaign of slaughter." Her tone of voice bespoke disgust. Though the Druid didn't know whom this Hemet was she understood that Stranglethorn Veil was both beautiful and dangerous. Chock full of wildlife and trolls, few ventured there for fear of falling to predator of the two and four-legged variety. The campaign of slaughter wasn't explained either.

Another hand shot up but the Dark lady cut the little boy off, "As much fun as this is we have more pressing matters. Salira dear," she turned towards the befuddled Scarlet warrior, "I put you in charge for a reason my pretty. It's precisely because you do not relish command that I did it; now obey."

The warrior gulped, "If it's you or them I'll take you. What are you're orders, ma'am?"


	51. Unlikely Allies

~*~ Chapter 50 ~*~

The Banshee Queen smiled in satisfaction. "Finally," she said to the willing Scarlet warrior, "Someone with sense at last. My deathguards have secured a section of the compound. Surviving Scarlet fighters are being taken to that area and quarantined." She indicated the section between them and the main gate, "It is more important right now to get them fighting for us: they will not follow a Forsaken commander. You will go and inform them of our position and ensure their cooperation. They are your soldiers now."

Though the look of her suggested she'd rather be taking orders than giving them, Salira shouted, "Ma'am," saluted while pulling on her helmet. Running off to locate her new charges, her red and white form vanished through smoke and cinder.

"Pity she's lost the stomach for command," the undead elf commented to the commander, "Even you can see the potential, yes?" The commander only stared at the space where the woman had been but ignored the Dark Lady's audacious remark. "Don't look so glum; I highly doubt you'd have wanted to lead Forsaken troops. I wouldn't trust you not to put them on the front line as cannon fodder anyway." Which they both knew is exactly what he would have done; unliving bodies as meat shields to protect the living.

Thunder, drizzling rain, the sizzle of shadow powers. The heat of magic fed fire. The screams of enraged Scourge, the flow of the Light that would bring them death. The prayers of civilians, the tears of children and the sound of metal slamming… slamming… slamming…

The wall crumbled again. More. A little more.

The Dark Lady studied the sounds for a moment, "Pay attention everyone, I have assignments for you all. You," she turned to the Druid, "have one job: stay alive. Stay out of the battle and preserve your own life." Kayas opened her mouth to reject these orders but the Dark Lady's voice grew louder. "You, warlock and you, " she indicated the single archer, the warlock and the scout, "keep the gargoyles away from our spell casters. Can you do that?" She was more than a commander, this one. She was a Queen now, but standing as the only line of defense between the living and the dead once again. Tall and imposing, she issued orders with ease, "Nekov, Commander Hillburn, and the Razor Wing Angels (3), I'm making it your job to guard that druid and keep her safe. At. All. Costs." This time she would not play it safe. "All adults capable of fighting will wait until the first wave has come and loot whatever weapons and armor you can. You are young and old and hardly trained to fight, but you will _have_ to fight. Try not to die." This time she would use every arrow in the quiver. "Mage-priest and my Frostfire Angles, you're to slow their advance where you can and hit them hardest where they come in groups." Every single arrow.

The mage-priest was looking around for the Forsaken spell casters when a tug at her dress caught her attention. She glanced down. The Quel'dorie child looked up at her with glowing eyes, skin icy to the touch and smiled. The woman paled and shrieked, jumping back. The elfin undead's smile melted and she took a step back. Children gave their trust quickly if they have to, but just ask quickly it can be taken back.

"Oh, by the Light! By the Light!"

"The Light didn't save me," one of the other caster children said, "It won't save you either. Better the Dark Lady than the Lich King. Trust us on that."

Sinking to her knees the woman tried to look the rotting children in the face, many of them only have partial faces themselves, "R-right then. What's the plan…?" They closed around her in an instant and she was lost in small magical bodies.

The commander and Nekov were arguing with each other while the Razor Wing children looked on and waited. Grown-ups talk too much; they didn't know when to just follow orders.

"I think we should get her to another section of the compound!" The commander was a commander after all, not used to having his orders questioned. There had been a system of checks and balances in the Scarlet High Command. It was gone now, dying with the Archbishop, burning in the magic-wrought fire, replaced in the hearts of the Scarlet priests by another of the Lich King's fabled promises.

"No! She stays here where the Queen can keep an eye on her during the battle!" Nekov's slavish devotion to his lady was apparent; he wanted to make sure the Queen's interests were not thwarted by any random priest they may cross paths. Keeping her in sight would also ensure the commander did not try to spirit her away should Nekov be incapacitated.

The commander reached out to slap some cooperation into Nekov but the warrior-rogue ducked and kicked him in the stomach. The commander hardly budged, so heavy was his armor. Nekov's foot on the other hand… "That stupid rogue! When I get my hands on him-!"

"Maybe latter, sweetness," the Banshee Queen purred, that heat back in her eyes as she slanted a sideways look at him, "but for now Michael's in charge. He's a professional, after all." She left out what exactly he excelled at, which would make him ideal to lead the Druid's bodyguard, but as one of the children turned sharply to the commander there would no doubt who Michael was.

The red-haired child couldn't have been more than ten; dressed neck to deck in silver ring mail enchanted into silence, "Right!" the little boy said, all stiff spined and serious. "Fall in line, men!" Nekov and the commander stared at him for only a split second before a rather impressive two-handed sword was unsheathed from his back and pointed at their manly bits, "This is my sword. Her name is Shaver. Want me to tell you how she got that name?"

Nekov and the commander placed hands in the air in compliance, shaking heads vigorously. The undead child beamed at their sudden cooperation. He squatted down and the rest of the Razor Wings crowded around. He started drawing lines in the mud with one meatless finger. A few seconds latter he glanced up at the adults and tilted his head. Glancing at each other they turned back to their new commander and sank down into the mud with the others. "We're going to start by getting to know each other. When I point to you I want you to say where you're from, your name and tell us a little something about yourself…"

Meanwhile, Caspin, the archer and Serz were deep into their own conversation. A quick lesson on gargoyle anatomy from the warlock was winding up as Caspin finished installing a rather impressive scope on the archer's Standard Issue Scarlet Longbow (2). When the archer confessed to having cat allergies Mr. Meows took an obligatory step back but mewled when he could no longer hear the conversation. The warlock cast a voice amplification spell and the cat quieted. Serz didn't even stop in his sentence, though a range on his spell was added when the Frosfire and the Razor Wing leaders looked up at once and glared.

"So… you have demons?" The archer balked at having to team with one of the Scourge-tainted Forsaken, let alone a blaspheming warlock. If it was this or wait to die he would take the warlock, even if the white priestess didn't like him.

Serz smiled friendly, "I seem to be out of demons at the moment."

"What? Really?" The Night Elf and Forsaken continued their discussions. It was clear they didn't expect much out of him; even the cat had his opinion solicited first. The archer sulked but, through practice, said nothing. Forsaken or Scarlet, it didn't matter. If it came down to her or him he'd take _her_ any day of the week. At least she was easy on the eyes, and Cigar liked her so that meant he would too, right? Right?

The Banshee Queen, firmly afoot now that her mount no longer understood her command, traveled from group to group learning each plan and relaying it to other groups. One of her black and red clad warriors, a commander in his own right, was put in charge of organizing the civilians. At least he would have if not for the shrieks of protest emanating from the children as he drew close. They scattered like chickens at the approach of the walking corpse. The Scarlet commander took exception of this "harassment of his lay persons" and threatened to end the scraggly man if he took one more step.

"Do be serious," the Forsaken Queen snapped in annoyance, "we've no time for games. Commander Surnamehere has the most experience interacting with the living of all my troops inside the compound."

The one-eyed commander frowned, humphed and looked back at the Forsaken, "What's your name, again?"

The undead commander's voice was smooth with use, "Firstnamehere Surnamehere." The accent was mildly Arathian, possibly from the Highlands, if not the foothills of the mountains. Judging by the look on his face, which was well preserved for an obviously older undead, he was serious.

The Scarlet commander shook his head and spat, "Let me lead my people. Put him in charge of the druid. At least then I'm not taking orders from whelps."

The Banshee Queen cocked her head and crossed her arms. A small tug at the corner of the commander's cape made him look down. The undead child, Michael, was looking up at him with large glowing yellow eyes. "Sir," he said in all childlike innocence, "I'm 20 years older than you and a veteran of war before you were a wet spot on you mother's loins."

The child leapt away as the commander swung a fist at his face. He landed neatly to one side and had Shaver unsheathed in a heartbeat. The sudden appearance of the undead Queen between them stopped the altercation, "Really, commander? I understand your aversion to working with those of our race, but must you insult and make injury with every single one of us before the day is done? I see you retiring to some shore in Tanaris when all of this is over."

"Gladly, woman. Gladly! But my demand still stands; I want to command my own lay person and let that thing be ordered around by… him."

"No." The tall elf was no longer in a congenial mood. It may have something to do with the growing sound of crumbling stone and rallying cries of the Scourge outside, "Suck it up. Your laypersons need to understand that this battle is not Scarlet versus Forsaken, but Loarderon versus the Scourge. Being commanded by a Forsaken will accomplish this better than allowing their own to command them." The civilians did not like the sound of that, but upon the final realization their commander no longer commanded they looked to their new commander with apprehension and fear.

The Forsaken commander rounded up his new troops much like a wolf rounds up sheep and herded them into one area to being instruction. The children were pressed tightly into the center, but they neither concerned the commander nor warranted his attention. His stratagem was to go over the basics of fighting for people who had never picked up a sward or staff before. "First, aim for the head. Anything else is your hide; don't expect to have me come rescue you because you hit the helmet or the throat and now it has you by the firos (1)."

The Scarlet commander had sulked and went back to Nekov, Michael and the Razor Wing. They were now spread out in a semi-circle around the Druid. She was being guarded under an awning of what used to be a relic shop of some kind. The relics were all packed up for the night, but at least it afforded a tiny bit of shelter from the rain. The striped canopy leaked and the ground was sodden, but at least when she pushed some of the relic boxes off the shelves her emaciated form could huddle there and not have to stand in water. She stealthed, watched and waited.

Watching these exchanges take place, the little Druid finally understood why the Dark Lady was splitting everyone up and it was exactly as she had said: they need to understand that they cannot fight each other while they are fighting _him_: they must be united as a single cohesive unit. Therefore she had done her best to mix both the living with the undead – with the Forsaken – to ensure they would rely on and work with each other. _That's brilliance or madness, I really cannot decide._

A minute latter the familiar pattering sound of many feet running threw the mud drew the little druid's attention. The Banshee Queen, the Scarlet commander and Serz took notice as well and moments latter Salira and her new troops poured in threw the gate. Most of them were covered in blood and every one of the living amongst them were injured somehow. Most of the injuries were magic wrought and cauterized; obvious survivors of someone flinging powerful searing shadow magic.

Salira's arrival got everyone's attention and she approached the Dark Lady quickly, saluted with a shaking gauntlet-clad hand and removed her helm. Her brown hair, which had been in a ponytail just minutes before, was down now and lose inside the steel cap. Hasty fingers brushed the damp strands out of the way. "Ma'am, 22 surviving Scarlets were found; 20 fighters, one lay person. Of your own troops there are 15 warriors, 3 mages and one … "cleric" left. The rest of all the combined fighters are dead or very, very good at hiding."

The Banshee Queen regarded the Scarlet woman for a moment, "Twenty-two surviving Scarlets were found? And yet ten fighters and one lay person equals twenty-one. The last one…?"

Salira took a deep breath, eyes focused on the Queen in front of her while her mind worked out what to do with the bit of information she had. Give it to the Forsaken or keep it for the Scarlet? Decisions, decisions…. While she came to her conclusion the Banshee Queen waited in all patience for her to decide to trust her with the information. Trust was very, very important to the outcome of the battler, after all.

In the end she caved, never being one to keep secrets from the higher ups, "The twenty-second is a priestess, your Majesty. A Scarlet priestess."

~* End Notes *~

(1) Firos – Dwarven word for "balls".

(2) Standard Issue Scarlet Longbow: Chance on hit to burn the enemy for holy damage equal to 10% of the archer's current level of Faith. Higher levels of Bow Skill (or Desperation) greatly increases proc rate. How do you measure health in the real world? "Well, your liver is fine, therefore your bow will produce damage equal to a second degree burn?" Sounds legit.

(3) Guild names: Razor Wing is the melee guild; Frostfire is the spell caster guild. Michael is in charge of the Razor Wing Angels and the Queldorie child is in charge of the Frostfire Angels. The Queldorie has a name but that's in another chapter.


	52. Confessions of a Novice

~*Author's Notes*~

I seem to have made, or am going to make, a continuity mistake.

I'm currently "in like" with semicolons; I plan to use and abuse at random.

This whole chapter takes place in 3 min.

~*~ Chapter 51 ~*~

The very air around the Banshee Queen stalled and fell still. "You come bearing gifts?" The Banshee Queen liked gifts; there didn't really need to be an occasion. Kayas could only imagine what a thing like the Dark Lady liked to receive from her adoring followers, let alone what a Scarlet Crusader would bring.

"I didn't – um – ma'am. One of your soldiers found her." Salira didn't want the undead Queen's favors, let alone to have the woman thinking she wanted to do that things for her.

One of the red and black clad soldiers came forward leading a young woman by the arm. The stoic, lose haired and dark eyed novice priestess was emotionless, barefoot and freezing in the rain and wind. A soaking white robe hugged a strait figure, cut in a V down the front and showed off her standing as a novice priest of the dark arts. Those more advanced training came with smaller and smaller robes to show off their status as "untouchable". The hard filigree necklace stood out against softer flesh. The lines of her face, too many for one who hadn't seen her thirtieth year, had come from love and laughter in days long gone. Now they only gave the rain channels to run threw.

She faced the Dark Lady head on, all of her fearlessness shining in defiant brown eyes. As the tall elf drew closer the undead man let go and stepped back. It was the priestess and his Queen now.

"Did you run out of magic or did you hope to get captured so they would bring you to me?" Every eye rested on the woman and her answers. It was not out of the Lich King's strategies to have one of his minions get captured and then kill or maim their captors with some hidden method. Mages called it combustion where they were able to turn other people into living bombs, but anyone could do it provided they had the right magical knowledge.

"I yielded." The priestess' voice was hard edged, not unlike a heavy smoker. "You can kill me, or give me to him-" she indicated the commander "-or let me go. My life has not been my own for many years; I accept that. I only pray the Light forgive me my sins before I am done."

The Dark Lady studied her quarry a moment, "Were you not amongst the clerics who helped shatter the defenses of this place?"

"Yes." The priestess swallowed hard, "I was to destroy the orphanage."

"Are you always this reliable?" The children behind the queen pressed closer to see the woman who would have been their undoing.

The priestess ignored the jab. "I faltered. He found me hiding in my room." Her voice was dry, as if reciting boring poetry. The foot soldier's hand waved as if to say _it was me_, not unlike a puppy wagging it's tail.

Commander Hillburn had heard enough, "I'll have your head, traitor!" How or from where a two-handed battle-axe appeared was irrelevant as it went spinning threw the air at the priestess. When she did nothing to protect herself the Banshee Queen's own clerics created the shield. Said clerics stashed themselves throughout this section of the compound. Just in case.

The undead Queen's illuminated glare landed on the commander, "You'll kill her before she even has a chance to answer my questions!" If she were going to kill a bunch of Orphans the Druid didn't see much problem with letting the commander take her head. Children should not pay for the actions of adults. If only other races embraced this truth.

The priestess' gazed matched the Dark Lady, glaring at the commander with contempt, "He very much likes asking questions, but never the right ones and always to the wrong people."

The commander stood stock still for a moment, shocked that one of his underlings would dare to address him in such a way, "You'll shut your traitor mouth or I'll-"

"What? Torture me? Kill me? Sell me to the Lich King? What are you going to do to me that hasn't already be done, and by those far more skilled at it than you?"

Her accusations floored the commander, "You sold yourself to the-" He took another step towards her but veered off to retrieve his fallen ax. When the rotting foot soldiers did nothing to stop him his brow drew together in deeper mistrust.

"Shut up!" When angry the white-clad woman sounded very much like a child, "This is your fault! All of this is your fault. Every time someone tried to tell you what was going on you sent them to the Field to be stripped of flesh and soul." Bare feet made small cups in the mud as she took several steps forward, hands raising slowly as if to draw sigils of power. She stopped when the elf exhaled softly in warning, hands returning to her side. "This is your fault. You're and the Archbishop."

"The Arch Bishop is dead," Salira interjected. The red helmet of her class hung from her hip again, graying hair plastered to her features in the rain. "We know he turned you against us." They all flinched as the sound of crumbling stone was met with another rally cry from the Scourge. The scout shifted, checking his bowstrings and scope for the tenth time and casting wary glances at the warlock. Commander Hillburn cast him a dower look but said nothing. His kind did not like elves, especially given the race of undead leading standing between he and Loarderon Castle.

"You think we did this willingly?" The priestess laughed at once to hear the good news. "You're bigger fools that I though. Light have mercy on us all."

Raising one white eyebrow the Dark Lady looked at the commander inquiringly. In her mind the Druid could almost see the puzzle pieces falling into place, explaining so many things that had no obvious connection, "It would explain the turnover rate you've had with priests these last few months. So many of yours have died and been replaced, and yet my people haven't mentioned there being any battles."

The commander reddened, "The Arch Bishop said-"

Now the shadow novice was furious, hands glowing slightly with the magic of her craft, "Did you never stop to think why so many of the people he brought forth as "traitors" were priests? Why they all said the same thing? You spared his soul the mark of darkness by doing the murdering for him."

Hillburn was furious and about to offer his scathing opinion as to the cleanliness of his soul when he noticed... everyone was looking at him. Everyone. It may take a moment for someone who is truly wrong on a fundamental level to accept their wrongness, but often it takes everyone telling them they are wrong at once for them to accept it. This was one of those times. The reality of her words washed over him at a sickening rate, the puzzles many pieces finally clicking in his own mind. A moment latter his face dropped, stricken, the words coming out in a low wail, "I didn't know! He said they were conspiring. How was I to know?!"

The priestess shook her head, "I want to hate you, but you're just one of millions who have fallen short of perfection in this world. What was it Fordrin said? Ah yes, 'You cannot explain rational to a zealot' or something like that." The dark glow around her hands dimmed and winked out.

Kayas coughed into one of her paws which earned a giggle from several of the children nearby, both living and dead. The Dark Lady smirked. At seeing this the commander let go of his self-loathing and turned on the priestess again, "And yet you did nothing while you saw all of this happening?"

The incredulity of his words washed all forgiveness from the priestess as well. Her hands glowed again,though she did not raise them to strike. "Do you remember Father Dolamain?"

"Yes, he was hung…." When he didn't finish his sentence the Dark Lady prodded him to complete the story. "He was hung outside the walls and fed to the Scourge. When he rose as undead the Arch Bishop stripped his soul out and burned it into dust."

"And you say I'm sadistic?" The undead Queen laughed, glanced over her shoulder at something and raised an eyebrow. Some unspoken message was sent and received. She turned back to the priestess.

"Worse," the priestess said to the Dark Lady, "He made us watch. Father Dolamain was the first to find out about the Arch Bishops corruption. When he threatened to tell the commander, the Arch Bishop had him taken outside, silenced him with spells and made all of the initiates watch while the Scourge did their work. Latter, the Arch Bishop revealed his plans to the priesthood and asked who amongst us would wished to be spared the training by being the next to feed the scourge. Commander Hillburn wasn't present for that part, of course. Since then dozens have tried to stop him, only to be put to death in the Field or on the wall. I'm not arrogant enough to assume I would be any different. Just another mark on someone's already dirty soul."

"That's enough." The Banshee Queen glanced anxiously at the gate and crumbling wall. "Surely you didn't allow yourself to be taken just to tell Commander Hillburn what a wonderful job he's doing."

"No, I came to ask that you spare me in exchange for information. You work like that, right?"

The obserdity of out-and-out being captured just to reveal information caused the Druid and scout to snort together. Serz spared them a glance before returning to his spectatorship. "What do you know that I don't already?" The Dark Lady asked, " Arthas has an army outside this gate and a few renegade priests inside. Nothing I we cannot deal with."

"Your pride may be the un-un-death of you. There is a traitor in your ranks." Mr. Meow hauled himself up from vigorous grooming to take up position beside the Dark Lady and demand pettings. There are hands and they are not being used. _Pet me_. Attempts to get the great beast to quit pawing at her cape and chewing on the hilt of her swords failed and only a clawed hand under the chin could bring the animal to a purring halt.

"I am aware of that as well. Next?" Serz tried to swallow but it was rather difficult with no saliva.

"I know who it is." Serz looked at his feet, fascinated by the way the pointed toe bones wiggled under the hem of his robe.

"As do I. Next?" The scout put his bow in ready position if it became necessary to silence another spell flinger from going after his father. Likely he himself had no clue what was going on, but the Druid knew he was very emotionally tied to the warlock and it never took much to get a Kaldorie to rise in defense of friend or family.

"The druid isn't doing anything that hasn't been done before; there are plenty of living who are infected with strands of the plague. Most of the necromancers who work for the Lich King are alive and infected."

"That druid and my Nekov both carry the plague and are not bound to Arthas by it. That has never been done before. Next?" Commander Hillburn's gaze ended on Nekov, the gears o f his own mind turning with old and new information. Nekov returned that gaze and held the scythe as if it would be nothing to take his former leaders head from his shoulders.

The priestess swallowed for a moment, feeling the jaws of despair closing in on her finally. She had accepted death, but no one actually wants it if there are options. "The trees in Quel'thalas are-"

"I'm aware. Next?"

_I'm a druid and I plan maaagical seeds… _the Druid though, watching the stone walls continue to splinter and crumble. Watching Mr. Meows getting doted on by the fierce Banshee Queen made her at once jealous, dejected and homesick. Druids did not purr – most large cats didn't – but she had learned to do it and assumed that Mr. Meows had too. For whom had he learned?

"Grown ups talk too much. I think they run their mouths because they can't stand the tension of just sitting still and listening." Michael was seated on the edge of the relic stall watching the exchange. Only Nekov and the Razor Wing could hear him.

"No, they are not just magical seeds!" The priestess stopped, closed her mouth for a moment and then continued, "The necromancers are fighting your foot soldiers, even your mages, with more skill than you give them credit for. They were going to quarantine everyone in here and then let the gate up after sealing off the rest of the hold. It was to be a feeding frenzy for the Scourge. Seems you havn't disappointed them."

"Necromancers?"

_Wait… did she just read my thoughts? Blink once if you can hear me._

"That's the part that gets you attention?" The priestess rubbed the bridge of her nose and blinked slowly. When she brought her hand down the Banshee Queen crossed her arms.

"Necromancers can control the dead. I didn't see any necromancers out there."

"They aren't out _there_, your majesty," The foot soldier answered for her, "The priests, most of them are trained in the necromantic arts. A good two-thirds of them ingested the plague that would bind them to the Lich King when this started. We didn't know that going in and they slaughtered most of us. The few here are survivors; I doubt there are many left."

The Banshee Queen was silent for a moment, going into her own mind, checking her resources and trying to see what was to be done about this new information. "And you said the priests had planned to move everyone into this section of the compound and then open the gate?"

What is the purpose in being able to read people's thoughts? I know something about necromancers; they are able to hide in plain sight because the shadow energy they wield is too powerful for them to wield at all times, unless they are freakishly powerful lichs, and they are able to pass it into an object. Destroy the object and you break that person of ever being able to control the dead.

The white-clad priestess nodded solemnly, "That was His plan all along, and even though almost none of it went according to plan, we all wound up here anyway. The gate He was going to open was in the Field of Agony, in order to turn all of those people into His minions before He got to us. Now as an added bonus He gets you as well."


	53. The Beginning of the End of a Beginning

~ Author's Notes ~

Why havn't I uploaded anything in a while? Check out "I hate being a grownup!" by Jenna Marbles. They never told us that living the American dream means no free time. * Lament! * * Lameeeeeennnnntt! *

On an off-note – I miss casual guild raid shinannigans. Four hours wiping on Crazy Cat Lady in Ulduar just to get one of her cats for my hunter. Doing heroics nekked except for santa hats and weapons. City raids where enemy chat spies report peeps saying, "Set up a picnic in the middle of ~enemy city~? Hell, they opened up a damn restaurant!" Wiping in old-school raids because some idiot on vent/in chat is making the tank laugh so hard she can't see the triangle through the tears ("Take your dirty socks and stuff em, I'm trying to tank!" "You don't want to know what he stuffs his socks with to make em dirty!")

This is not that kind of fun-times raid.

~*~ Chapter 51 ~*~

The Dark Lady laughed bitterly, "We'll see about that."

"You have rogues amongst your people, yes?"

"Around here somewhere."

"You should probably have them destroy the necklaces the necromancers are wearing. Destroy it and it destroys their source of power forever."

The little druid wondered just how many such rogues the Dark Lady had at her disposal. One at least, she was sure. However, one rogue versus all the traitorous necro-priests? None of the rogues she'd known in her handful of immortal years were that good.

The Banshee Queen lowered her gaze at the priestess, "Similar to the very necklace you're wearing now?" The rain was slowing to a drizzle now. The preened feathers on the metallic shoulder pads of the Dark Lady's black and purple neck-to-deck fighting armor were starting to rise once more. The light from the fire made the details of the outfit – a mix of High Elf fighting leathers and some bits of heavier Forsaken styled armor – clearly visible.

The priestess lifted her chin, the deep v of her robe's neck going strait to her navel and displaying the coin sized blue stone beautifully. The back of the disc the stone was mounted on would have rune, which was bound to her soul. "Exactly like the one I am wearing now."

"That was very foolish of the Arch Bishop to make the object of power something so base. I didn't think he would teach you how to kill each other so soon either." The priesttess looked perplexed for a moment so the undead woman continued, "Usually the blood sport comes when you're climbing up the ranks of the Scourge." Then she understood.

"I have my methods for finding knowledge, as you do yours. Would you have looked at their necklaces unless I told you otherwise?"

The Banshee Queen was not so easily corrected, "Eventually. Though you're willingness to save me the time I would have spent searching is much appreciated." There was a tiny bit of annoyance and irony mixed in with the Dark Lady's words. Stopping an army of necromancers who were slaughtering your own army was a very time sensitive task. Well... seems the priestess had been helpful after all.

_If you kill a necromancer without destroying the stone, their soul absorbs the energy and turns them into angry gophers. _

"Well I don't want a bunch of angry… ghosts coming after me."

Ha. You almost said "gophers"!

"Who's mind are you reading, my dear priestess? They are far more knowledgeable on this subject that you are. I'd rather talk to them in person, rather than through you."

"How-"

"I am hundreds of years old; I know the look in a mage or priests eyes when they are reading minds. Who is it?"

In a panic the druid couldn't help but remember just how she came across this knowledge. A memory flashed threw her eyes: herself at 7, fleeing threw the thick roots and leaves of the forest, running from ancient ruins. In her small hands a relic glowed softly and pulsed with evil intent. On her heels a vengeful spirit came full speed. Too small to have mastered a form, her feet flew over rocks and road till her lungs gave out and she could run no more. The spirit grabbed her from behind, spun her around… and evaporated, as the idol in her hand was struck free and smashed with the head of an even older stave. Turning, she fell gratefully into the arms of her savior, not understanding at the time why the Highborn lady didn't just go get the idol herself if she wanted it so bad. But it didn't matter, she had made thirty silver and it would buy enough bread to feed her whole family that night.

Kayas shook her head and dislodged the memory, all but the bread part. That word she repeated over and over and over again at the priestess. For once she was grateful that she never though of herself in the third person else the woman would know her name. _Bread. Bread. Bread. Bread. Bread…_ she chanted.

"Does it matter who is sending me bread? Can we just get this bread rolling? I'd love to see the bread tomorrow. Commander, I'm coming with you to Tanaris when the bread is done!"

"You weren't even here when we had that conversation! How far does your telepathy reach?" Though a fallen commander he was, a commander he was non-the-less. "Can you figure out who is controlling them and break the link?"

The Dark Lady blinked hard, laughed, smiled, "And that, sir, is why I like you!" The commander looked disgusted and took a step back. Those who garnered the this undead woman's attention often found themselves in a shallow grave before long. To the priestess she repeated, "Can you break a telepathic link?"

The priestess sucked in a deep breath, paled quite a bit, and stammered, "I… don't want to! They're linked to Him. I don't want to reach out and touch that. Please!"

"That's not a no." The Banshee Queen took the woman by the arm to lead her somewhere but she threw herself back, colliding with the foot soldier.

"No! I can't! He's too strong, his mind is too strong."

"Is it a 'he' or a 'they'.

"Yes."

"Listen here, young lady," Commander Hillburn drolled with a deep voice, as if he wanted to do anything but talk a human woman into voluntarily linking minds with the Scourge, lest her soul become tainted or twisted, "We got one shot at winning this. In light of the information you've given us our resistance is token at best. Any second now they come pouring through that gate. Ghouls, zombies, leaping death monsters, mages, necromancers, lichs, banshees and things you've ne'er even seen before! If you can break the link before they get organized for the inward advance then they become mindless Scourge are so, so much easier to fight than mind-full Scourge. You said it yourself that you're life is not your own. If it doesn't belong to the Lich King then you're still Scarlet, and if you're still Scarlet then as your commanding officer I command you to break that link!"

_Token at best? Not that I'm a judge of the Scourge but I though we had a pretty good resistance. By bread and butter, I've fought more with less!_

"Bread and butter..." The priestess echoed. She sighed heavily, a deep weariness sinking into her features. "If I do this you let me walk away. Both of you. I want out of Tirisfal. I want to go somewhere else where there are a whole new set of problems and none of it involves worrying which side I'm on.[1]"

The Banshee Queen and the Commander both looked at her in surprise and then looked at each other. "Deal!" They said in unison. The Dark Lady added, "Silverpine has a worgen problem if you'd perhaps like to try your hand at killing insane human non-druids."

"She said she doesn't want to work for you either!" The commander barked, annoyed that the elfin lady would still try to get the priestess to do her bidding even under the guise of not having the woman do her bidding.

The priestess tweaked a smile at the commander. To the Dark Lady she said, "'I'm... a devotee of the Light, you see. My power lies in healing – most of the time. I don't have enough discipline to do the deeper work. I do this and I don't just interrupt His connection to the Scourge... I'll interrupt your connection to your minions as well. It's the same icor that flows though their bodies, just some differences of composition."

"As my apothocaries have discovered."

The priestess was silent for a second but it was the commander who put it to words, 'Your apothecaries have experimented on you?"

"Yes. I was their first test subject. The ichor in my veins is different from most other undead – my body itself was never raised as undead per-say. The act of being reintroduced to my banshee soul is what keeps my physical visage usable. My soul literally moves me."

"So if we kill you there will be a phase two?[2]"

"And a phase three... possibly four. And maybe a five. Plus Corrosa. So six." Serz Huzad was in a helpful mood again.

Nekov looked annoyed-protective as he leaned on his slick black farm tool and waited for the wall to come down so they could get down to the business of fighting. He was a warrior after all. Micro-knitting together details of how they all go here and what they planned to do if they survived was not his forte.

"After what happened in the Monastery I'm pretty sure Corrosa would wipe them all. They'd never get to loot." Michael was almost bored listening to grown ups yep. "Would that make Corrosa the new Dark Lady?" Though he was saying it more to himself as musing the current Dark Lady looked over and scoffed.

Serz looked positively shaken to the core at the idea, an expression that was noticed by everyone present . If the undead were unable to stomach the idea of having Corrosa for a Queen... "I should think that would be nigh impossible. Can you see it now? Her priestly companion made to sit and stay in Undercity? No, his wanderlust is too strong. Where he goes she goes."

The gray-coated druid though it odd that none of the dozens present would for a second even entertain the idea that perhaps the priest would return to his own people and Corrosa would stay with hers. What bush had she been hiding under that she'd never heard of them before they showed up in Auberdine that morning? In her mind she heard the Dark Lady making a comment about the _backwood village_ she had crawled out of. It made her remember the Highbourn lady and the idol. _I wasn't born in Auberdine, my lady_, she though mockingly. _My village, and most of my family, were wiped off the face of the map . All that remain now are ruins. Ruins are all that ever remain when elves play with demons and magic. _ In the present fire roared, mocking her. A different set of demons and magic were in the process of making a new set of ruins tonight.

"Maybe I"ll go to Ferralas," the necro-priestess mused to herself, "I hear there are beaches there free of murlocs, where the water is still blue and the grass is still green."

The light Quel'dorie leaned over and asked Michael, "Just imagine how he'd try to decorate the place. Red or blue?" The little druid assumed they were talking about the Priest living in the undercity. The conversation was more interesting by the relic stand. Why the color options?

"Blue. After the Cathedra there's no way he'd paint Undercity red. Even if she and the Dark Lady are both -"

"Michael. That's sharing." The Dark Lady's gentle reproach could have soothed kittens. The commander actually shook his head and stared to hear the metalic, hollow voice go from hard to motherly in such a flash. To the priestess she affirmed, "Yes, I understand I will be cut off from my own. I can compensate. You will do this thing for me then?"

"For you, no. For Loarderon." Then louder she said, "For Loarderon!"

"Grand! Find a spot and get to work. You," she pointed to the soldier who had found the priestess, "Guard her well. The fate of this battle may very well be in her hands" The soldier saluted and followed the priestess as she left to find a safe place to hide.

It seemed to Kayas that the entire fate of the battle came down to the single hands of every person there. Anyone mess up, even a little, and it was all over. From the white haired priestess and her hold shield, to the FrostFire Angels, to the Scout and his impressive arcane bow... even Mr. Meows was critical. She was the only one who had no purpose. Well, she reckoned, the Scout hadn't been given any specific job either, but he at least was not told to just sit on his tale and be a spectator.

The gates crumbled, the metal shrieking as the bolts loosened. The victory cry of the Scourge was louder than the Druid though it should have been. Just how many hundreds were out there? Large chunks of the wall were raining down, slamming into the mud and despair hard enough to shake the ground.

"For Loarderon! The cry went up, sweeping through the compound with speed. "For Loarderon! For Tirisfal!" Those present around the Dark Lady were quite surprised and gladdened to hear there were survivors – few as there were – in other sections of the compound. At least there was a small chance for reinforcements, assuming they won their own battles.

From every corner the rally shouts went up. Soon other voices chimed in, "For Brill!" one of the undead cried. "For the Agamand Mills!" Nekov cried. The commander looked sickened and ashamed but still chimed in, "For the Castle!"

"For Loarderon! For the Castle!"

Serz Huzad thrust both bony fists into the air and orange-green fel flames twinkled at his finger tips. For a split second there was anger in a voice that had not spoken in anger since it's body breathed it's last breath, "For Darrowshire!"

The metal screeched, the gate crumbled further, less than half a dozen bolts remained. The realization that seconds from now they would be fighting whipped the occupants into a frenzy.

"For Andorhal! For the Cenarion!" Kaldorie did not shout often, preferring silent reflection to loud declarations, but just now Caspin added his soft-spoken voice to the rest. Kayas wondered just who "the Cenarion" where, but she'd figure it out when the fighting was done. Her feline body tensed, watching the wretched Scourge beating at the metal shield between them and the maws of death.

"For Light's Hope!"

"Speaking of Light's Hope," the Dark Lady growled, "if dearest Jetadiah were here that shield would be up by now!" Glancing up at the spot the white haired priestess had vanished to the Dark Lady took her bow from her back and readied an arrow at the gate.

The talking was done; the time was near. The battle cries when on and on.

"Caer Darrow!"

"Strathholm!"

"The Cathedral!"

The raid had stopped. The sodden wreck of the Scarlet Compound's defenses watched the Banshee Queen with purpose. They readied their weapons as she did. They turned towards the gate as she did. They said their last words, as she did.

"The Farmsteads!"

"The Docks!"

"The Granaries! The Orchards!"

The Forsaken and living defenders of the fort roared, whipping themselves into a battle frenzy. Howe dare the Lich King march an army into Tirisfal? How dare He threaten the living or the Forsaken? How DARE He make the living to turn on each other when they need each other to survive? His presumptions would not go unpunished!

"FOR KING MENETHIL!"

The Dark Lady winced. Hard. She winced again, rubbing her temple with one sharp finger. "Blasted all, that woman needs mental discipline! It would be a wonder if they couldn't feel her at the Throne." The undead present shook their heads as if trying to clear brain fog. For a split second the clamor from the other side of the gate stopped. Just a second. The Lich King's minions were feeling it as well. The little druid felt it, a ringing in her limbs and in her blood. A disconnect she hadn't realized was there. Disconnection from the Dark Lady's ability to control her.

The gate fell over, clanging loudly on the cobblestone and muck. Everyone froze.

Despite the Banshee Queen's warning, Kayas was the first to move. It was not in a Druid of the Wild to sit back and watch others do work. Her own rally cry, echoing a dream of battles long lost, would be the last words spoken in defiance of the moment.

"For the Scarlet Campaign of Loarderon! For the Blood Elves of Quel'Thalas! For every nation painted red by the blood of our families! Today, we take it all back!" To herself she added a private rally cry, _For Eldre'thalas and everyone who's intentions paved a path of suffering. _She knew exactly what it felt like to fight, to lose, to get run out of your land by an enemy so much stronger than she had been back then. She could do nothing to save a certain Keldorie village from it's fate, but these people? This battle? She was not that mewling cub anymore. She would not let it end in defeat this time.

The Scourge rushed in as a green and black dire bear lead Loarderon's last stand to war.

~ End Chapter ~

The priestess is about to complete the final quest in Tirisfal Glades and is about ready to move onto greener pastures! Congradulations on her impending ding and/or death.

If Sylvanas were an actual raid boss I assume her phase 2 would be banshee form once her body is defeated. I have ideas for her loot drops and other phases but I wouldn't want to ruin it all here :)


	54. First Wave: Abominations

~ Author's Notes ~

If you can spot any continuity issues, please let me know. I got off the outline so I have to go back and write in two scenes that were suppose to have happened by now. I learned something about writing with this little exercise: Don't pile all your characters in one place and make stuff explode. Bad, bad, bad!

Iciness toned down for people who don't like that kind of purple prose.

~*~ Chapter 53 ~*~

Two abominations entered the gate. The little Druid had seen them in the plaguelands, in the distance, as they marched up and down plague-ridden scars in the land on eternal lookout for things to play with. For a long time the Priest had avoided telling her anything about them, as they obviously were not ogre despite being that big and having more than one head(1) and more than enough arms to wield half a dozen enormous weapons. It had horrified the Druid to find out they were made out of children. Too small to be useful fighters, for the Lich King's purpose at least, they were stitched together to make abominations. As loyal to their maker as children are to a mother and as childish as the beings they are made from, they will do anything suggested to them in order to "play".

The first and biggest - four heads total and five arms – was iridescent purple. Stiff white skin stretched over various cuts of meat. Large, jagged barely held most of it together, and failed to hold a a lot. Putrefaction had burst the guts causing them to the ground between it's legs. Loud and sick squelches bubbled from under it's miss-matched feet.

The first wave of fighters, led by Salira and consisting of both Scarlet and Forsaken, attacked in unison. Despite the rigor and discipline the Scarlet soldiers posessed,and many of the Forsaken having been Scarlet themselves, they met with one mace-wielding arm and were thrown back as one. Three of the six child's faces lit up in delight.

Living bodies hit the ground and rolled, armor and cries of pain fractured the air. The Banshee Queen scowled at the recklessness. "Don't die so easily," she suggested, "Try dodging the weapons."

"New toys!" A deeply masculine voice bellowed, arms whistling while they swung overly-large weapons at anything that moved. 'Kill It' was apparently a favorite pastime of all undead children. All the mouths moved, even if they were no longer connected to vocal cords, when any one mouth spoke. Civilians screamed and ran, panicking for no reason Surnamehere could see. His attempt to coral them to a safe place failed when the abomination veered right past the warriors and headed for it's fellow children.

The horror in their eyes made Salira and the Dark Lady to join forces in the counter attack. Salira took her two handed mace to both it's knees, tripping it onto all fours as arcane arrows pinned one hand to the ground and broke the offending weapon. However the luck was not to last. When grownups failed to appeal to it's sense of play a large cat proved successful. Mr. Meows appeared suddenly, running circles around the putrid mountain's feet. Upon noticing the "kitty" it began swinging its myriad weapons at the agile jungle cat. Mr. Meows lead it quickly away from the defenders. Salira made to go after it but the Dark Lady scoffed, saying the, "Mel'ody can handle one abomination on his own." If the abomination had been a giant ball of yard the feline would not have been happier playing with it. Caspin attempted to follow, peppering it with black,singing arrows though it hardly seemed to notice. His were not nearly as strong or as physical as the Banshee Queen's

Salira turned her attention to the second abomination, who was tackling her mixed band of fighters with some joviality. Despite balking at being in charge the Druid noted the woman had a serious knack for it. After forming her troops she had switched weapons with someone, donned a shield and lead the attack. Ducking under one sweeping arm she came up to ram her sword into the side of one knee. It staggered, sliding in the mud, but stayed on it's feet. The guttural screams from the many children's faces looking down at her were ignored by men and women who refused to look up lest they recognize someone. Scarlet discipline.

Nothing much got past the main gate after the abominations. As ordered the Frostfire slowed the advancing waves as much as possible. All the better to give the defenders time to dispatch the oozing nightmares. Ice shards rained down, pinning bones and cloakes and bodies to the floor. A second wave of ice froze the rain and slicked the ground. Mindless Scourge were unintelligent and not smart enough to counter attack the AoE which decimated their advance. No Master meant no one to tell them not to kill mindlessly.

They pressed forward, towards the Frostfire's guild master, the Quel'dorie child who's ice shards gave them the most trouble. One axe barely missed her head had a particularly large piece not knocked the soldier's arm right off. Right in the thick of it a black and green bear did work. Nekov and the Commander cussed, pleaded and threatened to get her back under the relic stand. She ignored them. However, the pain was not ignorable. Without a Master to mind them they had apparently forgotten He wanted her alive. Each blow was met with a swipe of her wide paw, four inch nails shredding armor and enemies alike.

She warbled a cry of pain into the belly of the nearest enemy and ripped his guts out with her teeth. The feel of the desiccated flesh between her teeth made her to gag. The sound of High Elf chanting preluded each wave of icy shards. The ground was getting roughter and rougher with each wave of bodies being frozen into place. She kept having to climb to meet the next wave.

Nekov barely avoided getting his foot taken off by a flailing lower jaw. Cursing his lack of armor he begin to strip what bits and pieces of mail or plate he could find. Anything was better than just his soft leathers in the heat of battle. His prowess with the scythe had impressed his former commander as he took head after head after head which the ice shards failed to destroy. The commander's own two handed axe crunched over and over again, cutting threw rusted mail and cloth without much difficulty. They were dry and brittle from the long walk to Tirisfal. No doubt the fresher, stronger dead were being saved for ensuring waves.

The Quel'dorie shouted at them to move. Letting go of the pair of legs she was chewing on, the black bear bounded away quickly. Nekov and the commander followed quickly, the commander's axe still lodged in a twitching set of ribs. Just in the nick of time a wall of ice swept along the ground, freezing the mud and fuzzing the ice crystals into place. The Quel'dorie frost mage set her spell and crossed her arms, pleased with her work. The Scourge's ground troops were stalled. Temporarily.

Gargoyles and climbing things had no problem going over the walls however. Again, without the Will of their Master to coordinate their attack they chose their targets at random. Or so it appeared. Several of the winged monstrosities went strait for the white priestess upon the wall while the rest veered off and headed strait for the spellcasters. Ignoring the other undead completely they chose the living to attack instead.

Salira noticed this first, "They're attacking the living only, ignoring the Forsaken. Take advantage!" Swinging her red and gold shield up she blocked a blow from a smaller hook knife and attempted to disarm the weapon in the counterattack. Two other weapons had been disarmed and the smallest of them taken up by one of the braver civilians. A squirming, severed arm lay nearby.

The lone Scarlet archer shot a lucky bolt strait through one of the air-born Scourge's joint. Halfway threw the air the tip had burst into Holy Light. Upon piercing the creature it burned, dissolving half the wing. The vermin shrieked, dipped wildly and smash into the wall. The broken body rolled and fell to the ground. "For Loarderon!" The archer shouted. Victory cries rang out for each small victory reached as the battle waged. Two of the remaining three creatures veered off and shrieked their ghastly battle cries to initiate a counter attack upon the archer.

Serz Huzad, for his part, was fair out of luck with no demons remaining to do his bidding. Being a paltry excuse for a Warlock had always been his boon, though at a time like this his "civilian" status gave him nary an advantage. His bony hand snatched the next arrow away from the archer; soon it was suspended in the air between his palms. "Let me try something, shall we?" Concentrating like the world depended on it, he sought to infuse the arrow with the fiery magic of his warlock training. The archer stood by, ready to shoot his new and improved arrow...

… as soon as the Warlock's spell took...

Any second now.

The second mottle-bodied beast was upon them before the archer realized he wasn't getting any fel-fire arrows out of this particularly terrible warlock. In a split second Serz went from concentration to action as he grabbed the archer and yanked him out of the way. A flapping wing caught the side of the Warlock's face and sent him reeling into the mud. The claw that would have landed on the young archer's should her missed, however.

For a brief second the undead man's body lay, well, lifeless. A moment latter, feet firmly under him, flames flickering between wriggling fingers. Furious hands took hold hold of the gargoyls legs. The rabid brute realized only too late how quickly the tables had turned. Fel-flames quickly wound upward green and angry and burning with rage.

"This robe was brand new! Does no one in this Light-forsaken place appreciate a well-dressed corpse anymore? I can't be caught in wash-and-wear; Corrosa would kill me all over again!" The creature screamed in pain, flapped its wings and tried to fly away. The Warlock wound an arm around edge of the trinket stand and would not let go. The flames reached the belly and seemed to absorb into the flailing, wailing Scourged animal. "Some of us are missing parts, you know? We have to have everything custom made and there are so few tailors amongst us with an eye for anything that isn't half a century old and covered in fungus." The beast began turning red. It's eyes bulged, bloodshot and thick. The hair on it's back began smoking. It's thrashing legs looked as if they would pull the Warlock's arms off but Serz Huzad was a strong man. Stronger in body than his soul magic was. That didn't stop the creature from exploding half a second latter. Hot, steaming guts flew every direction, landing on everything and sizzling where they hit the cool ground.

"For Darrowshire! For Andorhal!"

The Dark Lady encouraged Serz with high praise, "You never fail to impress." Taking care of the third beast herself she resumed her position in the middle of the battle and directed the fighting. Her black glowing bow, so much like the Scout's blue glowing beauty, fired one after another, pinning the wall-crawling Scourge in their spots. The Frostfire took care of them by freezing and then shattering them in turn. The chunks of frozen Scourge raining down along the inside of the wall, added to the gore of the battle.

Having overtaken two-thirds of the compound the magic fire lit up sky like daylight. It would only be a matter of time before it spread to this area as well.

"We may need to evacuate," Salira was saying between bouts of blocking and charging. The loud clanging of weapons on weapons on shields on armor, the angry cries and half-mad screams ran together in a symphony that heated her battle lust. "We win or we die. There's only one gate out now and they're blocking it!" The angry souls within the fire sought revenge and hot blood. There would be no quelling it without more mages.

All around her the battle waged but the little druid headed none of it. The Commander to her left and Nekov to her right urged her to return to the safety of the relic stand. She heard it all and ignored more. Her place was not in the back. It was not her turn to be guarded, to be protected. It was her turn to fight, to shine, to prove them all wrong when they said she should have taken a different path with her Druidic teachings. She would show them that a Druid of the Wild was a guardian of the balance of nature and a preserver of the natural state of things. All life was sacred; not just the parts and pieces that are pretty. The dead things and the dying things were just as sacred as the living things. It was not in her to sit back and watch or stand aside and cast. It was not her calling. The Priest had been wrong. Her teachers had been wrong. The idol she had been gifted by that Highbourn lady was still in her dresser at home, long ago discarded as a useless thing that would not help her feral forms. The image of Elune the Restorer did her no good as a bear and so was useless.

The Razorwings skated on the ice, long ago perfecting this dance with the Frostfire. Flying over the smooth surface with such grace gave them their name. Waves of Scourge broke the rize, climbing and clamoring over frozen brethren with ghoulish intentions,. The Frostfire and Razorwings in turn froze them in place and hacked them to pieces. Wave after wave after wave. Soon the very door was blocked by the writhing bits and pieces of undead foot soldiers.

"How long do you thing that'll hold em, Ms. Nir?" Michael's wiped Shaver clean with a bit of scrap fabric pulled from a kicking severed leg. He caressed the blade like an old lover, a mind that had seen decades of undead war housed in a body that died before it's tenth year. He would never touch a real woman that way but it did not stop a matured mind from finding something else that did like his touch (2).

The Quel'dorie child, busy rotating her exhausted frostt mages, barely heard him. "First wave. Plenty more where that came from. Rest your warriors. Round two comes shortly." Not nearly as old as Michael, she nonetheless had her own understanding of battle. The fire mages took their stances and got to work lighting the mass on fire. The plague had already started to pull flesh and bones back together. The steady heat of the flames poured from both ends of the compound. The fetid air of the battle zone danced in the heat. Thirteen angry faces roared, demanding penance.

Michael glanced over at the druid. The Commander and Nekov were frustrated, scratching their heads and wondering how to unroot a druid who did not want to be moved. "That's not fair!" Nekov's complain was seconded by the Scarlet warrior by his side. Firmly hooked into the ground – rather the ground was firmly hooked into her – she stared intently at something on top of the wall. Four long legs wrapped around the top, as if someone had hooked a massive undead spider onto the outside. "Why have they stopped?" Michael asked, "If it can come over, why hasn't it?"

"It's waiting." Nekov took his scythe in his hands and held it, swinging it slightly as if testing if the tool would make it the distance to hit the legs or not. One of the Frostfire saw him and understood. Her tiny little firebolt shot forth and struck the leg. It quivered but stayed. A second set of legs appeared. Then a third. The Druid backed up. They were huge. Way bigger than any spider she had ever seen and she had seen some very, very large spiders.

Shifting into her upright form she asked, "What kind of spiders does this kingly lich posses?"

"Not spiders, girl," the commander said, "Crypt fiends. Those are defiantly crypt fiends." His voice shook slightly, as if remembering something in a nightmare. Ever so gently he touched the side of his face, rubbing at a host of unsightly scars.

Kayas had no doubt what that missing eye of his last gazed upon. "Crypt fiends are bad?"

"Yes." The Scout's arrows weren't being wasted on the legs of something that was just hanging onto the wall. He'd wait till the head or torso came over so as not to waste the magic. "I havn't seen any in Tirisfal Glades before, though there are quite a few in the Plaguelands and Quel'thalas. They can't be tamed."

_You... tried to make one of those your pet?_ She would dearly loved to have seen that.

He glanced over and saw her expression, flushed pink in embarrassment. "They're spiders, I didn't know!" The Druid shifted back into her bear form. The Scout's voice was accusing. Surely he didn't mean to blame his lack of knowledge on her, but he defiantly blamed her people. If he had been raised with other Kaldorie he would have been trained to be a proper hunter. He would use real arrows. He would have bonded with an animal companion and be able to direct it. He would own the pet instead of … instead of whatever he and Mr. Meows.

It had occurred to the little Druid some time ago that the giant black jungle cat did not belong to the Scout. Instead it ran where it wanted and, instead of taking orders, took messages to get back to that person latter. Watching the Scout and the cat fight the abomination was chaos, organized. They didn't work together so much as compensated fluidly for whatever half-second of planning the other had undertaken before their next move. Kayas had a friend back home who had a white and black spotted feline he was closer to than his own family. The creature was his pride and companion, his heart and soul. She felt sorry for Caspin and Mr. Meows; no matter how well they fought side by side they were not fighting together. They would never get to stop compensating for not being a true bonded pair. The Scout did not understand the shame of it at least, seeming to appreciate the companionship alone. Not to mention the hundreds of pounds of angry, armored feline distracting the abomination so he could pepper it with searing black magic arrows.

Black magic arrows could only have have been a warlock's teachings.

Kayas ground her sharp teeth together and threw her anger and rage at the second wave of Scourge. _Stupid warlock! Stupid idiot warlock! Stupid spell caster, magic using human idiot trying to teach a Kaldorie how to be Kaldorie! _The more she though about those black magic arrows, something only an ignorant elf would have dared to learn, the more damage she wrought. The more damage she wrought the more reckless she became. The more reckless she became the more pain she faced. The more pain she endured the more her healing spell rolled and rolled and rolled, plague tainted flesh and bone knitting together as fast as the natural magic in the untainted ground could feed her.

"They're breaking through!" Salira had disarmed almost all of the abominations weapons. Half a dozen frozen and broken flying creatures lay on the ground, pulled down by the Frostfire. The wall of burning Scourge had ceased to writhe. However, something was pushing the mass of tangled body parts out of the way. Something began digging through the corpses. Salira landed the killing blow to the towering monster, finally cutting out it's rotten heart and lopping it in two. The living and dead warriors aiding the attack had already hacked off each arm in turn and blinded as many eyes as possible.

The stillness as it staggered once, twice and finally fell to the ground was almost weightless. In an instant the silence was broken by the helmed warrior's battle cry, "For Loarderon! For the Scarlet Campain! Victory, or DEATH!"

The wall of bodies crumpled, pushed aside by magic which could shape and manipulate the dead. "I shall gladdy oblige you." A long necromancer stepped through the opening. Her black robes, if such as skimpy outfit as that could be called robes, cut down to her navel in the same fashion as the traitorous priestess. It was old, shredded up past the knee from disrepair and lacking the usual ornamentation gifted to higher ranking necromancers. She may be powerful, as indicated by her larger-than-life size literally swelled with evil, but there is someone in her circle even more powerful than she. This is her chance to prove herself.

"Master wishes me to bring Him the night elf. I shall do as He commands!" Kayas, upright and attempting to heal the worst of Salira's wounds, stood side by side of the scout who was guarding the weary warriors from the last of the winged threats. They stared at her blankly. "There are two? No matter; I shall bring them both to You!"

The commander and Nekov had something to say about that. Nekov attacked from behind, the commander from the front. The pale, gray skinned woman didn't even flinch as both the panting men beat relentlessly at her invisible shadow shield. Her hollow voice bespoke excitement at doing her Master's bidding, "Master wants the one who made the dorie trees. A night elf druid to champion the Scourge. I shall deliver." A swift move of her arm sent both men over backward in a wave of shadow energy.

Kayas found it odd that this 'master' would want her alive. Did he want more trees as well. Trees who's sole purpose is to absorb the plague and turn it into holy energy, thereby destroying the plague...?

Nekov guffawed as he retrieved his weapon, "A druid would never work for the likes of the Traitor Prince!" He spat on the ground, "Arthas can look elsewhere for champions; this one belongs to the Queen of the Forsaken."

"You mean that Druid belongs to the Scarlet Campaign," the commander corrected. To the necromancer he growled, "You can have my druid when you pry it from my cold, dead hands!" The commander lobbed his two handed axe at the necromancer. It bounced off an invisible shadow shield and clattered to the bone pile.

The necromancer's gray chin tilted to look at him from under thin lashes, "You have no idea how many champions the Master has acquired by prying them from cold, dead hands." Her eyes flickered up to the seething elfin banshee, "Isn't that right, Ranger General?"

~ End Chapter ~

(1) Some aboms have one head, a few have more than one. Raid bosses tend to have multiple. These have multiple for similar reasons.

(2) Not unlike "The Doctor's Wife", complete with stitched abominations, reanimated corpses and lots of running.


End file.
